Belladonna (16 page)

“What are you thinking?” Mada tilted her head just slightly. “You look as though you might burst out into song.”

Cass blushed, debating furiously about whether to tell Madalena about Falco’s presence in Florence. If she did, Mada would do her best to discourage her from seeing him. But maybe that was what Cass needed.

Before she could respond, loud voices sounded from outside, in the piazza. Cass glanced up from her breakfast with mild interest. A crowd was forming.

“What’s going on?” she asked, grateful for the reprieve from Madalena’s questioning.

“I’m not sure.” Mada frowned.

Cass stood up and moved to the window. The men who had assembled the platform were now dragging prisoners to the center of the square. Women. Noblewomen, from the looks of their brilliant satin-and-taffeta dresses. The assembled crowd was yelling angrily, and people were pelting the women with pieces of garbage. Cass was so shocked, she could hardly speak. Then she caught a glimpse of the woman at the head of the line.

It was Hortensa Zanotta.

Madalena had come to the window behind her. “Isn’t
that
Hortensa?” she asked. “
Santo cielo
. She looks awful. I haven’t seen her since the last time she shushed us during Mass.”

Cass felt the impulse to turn away from the window. But she couldn’t move. “What—what are they going to do to them?” Cass whispered.

Mada just shook her head.

The mob was growing in size. A mix of nobles and peasants, of fine silks and muslins, formed a circle. Hortensa was led to the platform first, and the two other girls followed her. Were these the women Hortensa had been with the previous evening? Cass wasn’t sure. All she knew was that they were in some kind of terrible trouble. Their hands were bound, and they were crying.

Where was Don Zanotta? Why would he let this happen?

Feliciana burst into the room without knocking. “One of the servants just told me three more vampires are being put to trial in the piazza,” she said, then stopped abruptly when she saw that Cass wasn’t alone.

“More vampires!” Madalena exclaimed fearfully. She started to pull the shutters closed, but Cass held out a hand to stop her.

Feliciana looked doubtfully at Cass. “I thought we might try to get closer . . .”

“Are you mad?” Madalena burst out. “If they’re really vampires, they might break loose and kill everyone.”

Feliciana curtsied slightly. “Begging your pardon, Signora Cavazza,” she said. “They don’t look very ferocious to me.”

Cass thought about the way the masked stranger had stroked Hortensa’s neck, about the way the donna had seemed ready to collapse. Could Cass have stumbled into a whole party full of vampires? Her chest tightened, and for a moment she thought she might faint.

One of the women had fallen to her knees and was begging for mercy. Hortensa stood silently in the middle of the group, her chin lowered to her chest, her blonde hair dirty and tangled.

“Hortensa Zanotta,” Mada murmured. “I knew she was cold, but a vampire? She and her husband live just down the canal from my father.”

“What will they do?” Feliciana asked. A priest all in black was making his way up to the platform.

Cass remembered what the man from the mass gravesite had said.
We’ve started drowning them . . .

A tiny part of her felt like Hortensa might deserve this gruesome fate for her accusations against Luca, but if the donna was drowned, Cass would never get a chance to question her about Luca’s charges. And Hortensa would never be able to return to Venice and admit that she had lied.

“We have to stop them,” Cass burst out. “I have to speak with her.”

Mada shook her head. “You’re insane. There’ll be no stopping anything. Do you see that mob? They’re bloodthirsty.”

But Cass wasn’t listening. She was watching a boy with dark hair struggling to make his way around the mass of people in the piazza.

Falco.

“Come on.” Cass hurried around the back of the house to where the crowd had doubled in size. Feliciana followed her and so did Madalena, though she continued to protest weakly that Cass had gone mad. Mada hugged the wall of the palazzo as if she thought nothing bad could happen to her as long as she stayed within arm’s length of shelter.

The crowd in the piazza continued to swell. Servants peeked out from high windows overlooking the square. A trio of schoolboys climbed the statue to get a better view.

“Falco,” Cass called.

He was heading toward the northern side of the piazza, but turned immediately at the sound of her voice. He navigated the swaying mob and met Cass at the back of Palazzo Alioni. He had a thick roll of parchment under his arm. Cass had intercepted him on his way to do some sketching, probably at the nearby Duomo or the Campanile.

Madalena’s eyes widened. She had never met Falco. Probably she hadn’t expected him to be so handsome. “We should go back, Cass,” Mada insisted, tugging at Cass’s gown with the hand that wasn’t still planted safely on the bricks of the palazzo. “It’s dangerous to be here.”

Falco’s eyes flicked to Mada, then back to Cass. “We meet again,” he murmured in a low voice. Then, turning back to the crowd, he raised his voice a little and said, “Why are you ladies bearing witness to this? The Church, executing the infirm.” His words were laden with sarcasm. “I suppose it is an excellent way of preventing an outbreak.”

“They’re not ill,” Mada said. “They’re vampires.”

“There are no such things as vampires,” Falco snapped. “The priests would have you fear invisible attacks by monsters, all the better to keep you from fearing what is really threatening Florence—the tyranny of religion.”

Feliciana stood behind Madalena, watching the exchange with interest. Or was she just using it as an excuse to stare at Falco? Cass couldn’t be sure. It was petty, but she felt a surge of relief that Falco hadn’t so much as glanced at Feliciana. He was too busy glowering at Madalena. Cass gave Mada’s arm a squeeze.

“Falco has some strong opinions about the church,” she said soothingly.

Mada shook off Cass’s hand. “I’ve seen vampires,” Mada insisted. “Prowling the streets of Venice.”

Falco curled his lip into a sneer. “Sure you have. Perhaps a bat that flew a little too low? A leper who dared to sneak out of the compound in search of an extra crust of bread?”

“You’re wrong,” Mada said. “The Church says you’re wrong.”

“The Church is wrong.”

Mada gasped. “What sort of man are you?”

“Perhaps you should be up there with them, hmm?” Falco said. “You’ve seen vampires. How do you know you’re not afflicted?”

At this, Feliciana raised a hand to her mouth.

Madalena’s eyes flashed. “How dare you speak to me like that? My father could run you out of the city if he chose.” She sucked in a deep breath and turned to Cass. “Luca rots in prison an innocent man while this
peasant
gallivants around Florence spewing blasphemy.”

“Mada, please!” Cass spoke up. Madalena simply glared at her, then spun around and headed for the safety of her aunt’s palazzo.

“You shouldn’t have said those things to her,” Cass said to Falco. “It was cruel.”

“Current circumstances have me far outclassed,” Falco snapped, gesturing to the women on the platform. “I’ve seen enough, and I can’t believe you haven’t as well. I wish you’d never called me over.” He turned to leave.

Cass didn’t have time to explain. Her frustration building, she broke away from Falco and Feliciana and pushed her way into the throng. The noise of the crowd swelled to a crescendo as the priest stood in the center of the platform, quoting from a leather-bound Bible. Hortensa stood motionless. The other women cowered before the priest, one crying profusely, the other dry-eyed but sagging against the man who held her silver bindings.

The priest was still quoting Scripture, his booming voice building in intensity to match the roar of the crowd. The piazza was full now, and Cass could see that even the shops and the surrounding alleys were packed with onlookers. The sun cut like a knife. Sweat beaded up on her brow. Cass fumbled in her pocket for a fan or a handkerchief, but she had nothing.

Desperately, she fought to get close to the platform. But she found herself blocked and jostled from all sides. Across the piazza, a man with shoulder-length blond hair caught Cass’s eye. Cristian. She fought a wave of panic.
Focus,
she told herself as the man melted into the crowd. It wasn’t Cristian. It never was. She turned back to the platform. “Hortensa!” she cried out.

Just as Cass called her name, the priest seized Hortensa by her bound hands and thrust her face down into the tarnished basin. Cass gasped. Hortensa’s legs kicked out from her wide skirts. The basin water bubbled and splashed as if the priest were calling out a demon. The mob roared its approval.

“Stop!” Cass screamed. “I must speak with her.” But her words were swallowed up by the cheering and chanting of the crowd.

The priest lifted Hortensa’s head above the water. “Have you consorted with the undead?” he asked.

“No. No, please.” She was begging for the first time. Water dripped from her tangled hair. She coughed, a deep, wracking sound. She reached out toward someone in the crowd.

Cass followed Hortensa’s gaze. She couldn’t believe it. There, directly in front of the platform, was Don Zanotta. He not only wasn’t speaking out to save his wife, but seemed to be finding satisfaction in seeing her tortured.

“Then why do you bear the mark?” the priest demanded.

Hortensa stumbled, almost collapsing to her knees. “I don’t know,” she said, almost unable to choke out the words.

“Expose the monsters who did this to you and God may take mercy on your soul,” the priest intoned.

“No one did—” Hortensa’s protestation was cut off as her head went into the basin again. Cass watched in horror as the donna struggled a second time. A bell tolled repeatedly from the nearby Campanile. It filled Cass with terror, as though the bell were calling them all to their judgment. The priest pulled the donna’s head above the water once more, this time holding her by her hair.

“Last chance to confess and save your soul,” he thundered.

The crowd jeered. A rock flew through the air, colliding with Hortensa’s chest. She gasped and doubled over. Onlookers clapped and stomped their feet.

Hortensa didn’t beg again. She didn’t even speak. Her head disappeared beneath the surface of the water for the third time. Limbs flailed. The crowd cheered. And then, Hortensa’s body went limp.

The body was lifted roughly from the tin basin, carried to the edge of the platform, and dropped unceremoniously onto the hard wood. Around Cass, the crowd shouted and stomped their feet. A shrill voice pierced the dull roar: “Serves you right, vampire.”

Cass was carried forward by the mob, close enough that she could see the sweat on the faces of the other accused women. They were now on their knees begging for mercy. Their pleas were weak through their sobs, like lambs bleating before the slaughter.

Cass stared at Hortensa, at the heap of soggy satin and tangled blonde hair that had only a minute ago been a woman. She knew there was nothing she could have done, but a sense of loss still gripped her. Hortensa was gone—murdered while her husband stood by and watched—and with her went one of Cass’s chances at clearing Luca’s name.

She couldn’t bear to see any more. She turned away as the priest grabbed the second woman by the silver-laced straps that bound her wrists behind her back. Cass forced her way through the mob, swimming against the current of people still pushing toward the platform, ignoring the explosions of jeers and taunts.

Feliciana stood at the edge of the piazza.

“Are you all right?” she asked, seizing Cass by the shoulders. “I thought you were going to get trampled.”

Cass didn’t know if she was all right. She had never seen anyone executed before, and she couldn’t get the image of Hortensa out of her mind, how inhuman the woman looked with her pale limbs splaying out underneath the bunched fabric of her dress. Like a broken doll, cast aside.

“Come on.” Cass realized she was shaking. She looked around, but didn’t see Falco anywhere. He had left her. A fist clenched and unclenched in her stomach. Clearly, she had disappointed him. He didn’t know she sought only a chance to ask Hortensa why she had lied about Luca. When Cass had pushed her way toward the platform, he must have thought she wanted to watch the executions, that she believed in vampires.

She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore. She didn’t want to think she had unwittingly followed Hortensa into a party full of vampires, escaping just barely with her life. But the alternative—to believe as Falco did—meant accepting that the Church was executing people for no reason. Cass didn’t want to believe that either.

She retreated into the palazzo with Feliciana, covering her ears with her hands to block out the jeering of the crowd and the shrieks of terror from the women on trial.
Some trial. If you confessed, you were executed. If you maintained your innocence, you were executed.

Inside, Madalena sat primly on a divan in the portego, sipping from a small gold-rimmed cup. “Herbal tea,” she said. “You should ask for a cup. It soothes the nerves.”

Cass had problems that were going to require more than herbal tea to fix. “I hope it soothes your temper, as well,” she told Madalena. “You didn’t need to get so angry.”

“Me? What about him? What about
you
?” Mada replaced her teacup in her saucer. “What can you possibly see in that peasant?”

“Probably what all women see in him,” Feliciana blurted out.

Cass twisted around to give Feliciana a severe glare. Feliciana dropped her eyes, dipped somewhat ironically into a curtsy, and retreated.