Poison: A Novel of the Renaissance (16 page)

“When I realized that your father and I might have a common aim,” Morozzi said, “I offered him my help. He accepted it. Unfortunately, he was not able to succeed in his endeavor. The . . . problem remains.”

“Then an attempt was made?” I waited, scarcely breathing, to learn if my father truly had tried to kill the Pope.

Morozzi shook his head. “I know only that he was prepared to act. Tragically, he was killed before he could do so.”

Oddly, I felt relieved. My father’s soul was free of that sin, at least. But at the same time, I was now even less certain that the method Sofia believed he had intended to use could actually work.

“What do you mean that you shared a common aim?” I asked the priest.

Morozzi looked surprised. “Surely you know?”

“Perhaps I do, but I would still like you to answer.”

Realizing that I continued to test him, he flushed. I could sense his patience wearing thin. “The edict . . . you know of it?”

I nodded. “Why would you care about the Jews?” I suspected that I already knew but I wanted to hear him say it.

He did so but not easily. For a moment, I thought the words would choke him.

“I am
converso
.” Quickly, as though to cleanse the tongue that had uttered those words, he added, “I believe with all my heart and soul in one God, the Father Almighty, in Jesus Christ, his only begotten son, and in the Holy Ghost. I act only to prevent a great evil.”

A part of me remembered the need for caution and yet I could not help be moved by what he said. Truly, I hoped that he spoke for my father as well.

“I understand,” I told him. “Innocent is an old, sick man. In the natural course of events, he will not live much longer. Yet he may still have time to do much harm.”

“Your father was determined to prevent that.”

“He failed.”

Morozzi nodded. He looked deeply unhappy yet still hopeful. “An attempt might still succeed . . . if you are willing?”

There it was, the offer I had sought. The path to vengeance for my father and achievement of the goal for which he had died, the survival of the Jews. If I was very lucky, I might even live long enough to have a chance to redeem my soul, but I wasn’t counting on that.

“You can get me close to Innocent?” I asked.

Morozzi was very pale but he nodded without hesitation. “As close as is needed.”

“How is that possible?” There were hundreds of priests within the Vatican. Very few of them had direct access to the Pope and even
fewer would be allowed near him now that he had taken up residence in the
castel.

“Since coming to Rome,” Morozzi said, “I have been fortunate enough to draw the Holy Father’s notice.”

That did not surprise me. So far as I knew, Innocent was not a sodomist, but he had the same love of physical beauty that is shared by so many Romans. Morozzi looked like an angel. He would be noticed anywhere he went.

“The Pope is an old man terrified of death,” the priest continued. “He is surrounded by people who are anxious for him to get on with it so they can secure their own positions in a new papacy. I encourage him to believe that he will be redeemed in the eyes of an all-forgiving God.”

“Do you actually believe that?”

“As a Christian,” Morozzi said, “I must believe that forgiveness is available to all. At any rate, the papal guards are accustomed to my presence in His Holiness’s apartments. We will not be stopped.”

I took a breath and let it out slowly. From this point, there was no turning back. Truly, the die would be cast. But then my decision had been made some time ago—when I knelt over the bloodied, battered corpse of my father and swore vengeance for his death. Every step I had taken since had been toward that.

“I will send word to you through Rocco when I am ready,” I said. Much as I regretted using the glassmaker to such a purpose, I had no alternative.

The priest nodded. I could see that he was sweating but I sensed no weakness in him. “How will you do it?” he asked.

The question surprised me. I had assumed that he knew what my father had intended. “The same as before,” I said carefully.

He nodded. “Poison then. Something quick and certain?”

My father could not possibly have intended to use poison against Innocent, not if his death was to appear natural. But apparently Morozzi did not know that. I had to wonder why even as I resolved to keep my own counsel in the matter.

“Yes,” I said, “of course.”

“Good, then I will wait for word from you.”

“It shouldn’t be long.”

“I hope not. There is very little time.”

I assured him that I understood the urgency and saw him to the door. Before he opened it, I asked as though in passing, “Tell me, is it true what I hear, that the Pope is drinking blood now?”

I thought he might deny the rumor, but instead he looked exasperated. “Innocent is convinced that it will keep him alive, but he grows weaker by the day.”

“Perhaps Almighty God will be merciful and take him before he can sin further.”

Morozzi shot me a sharp look. “Do not count on that. As I said, we must act quickly.”

When he had gone and the door was closed behind him, I leaned back against it and took several deep breaths. My legs felt weak and I needed several moments to steady myself. By any measure, the meeting had been a success. I now had a means of reaching the Pope. But I also had more questions than before.

Why had my father not told Morozzi how he intended to kill Innocent?

Had he had some reason not to trust the priest?

Rocco returned just then from tending the fire. I was unprepared for the sudden urge I felt to seek the comfort of his arms. Instead, I wrapped my own around me in a vain effort to steady myself.

He did not hesitate but closed the distance between us quickly
and stood before me, so near that I could see the steady rise and fall of his broad chest. Even at such dire times, there was a quiet strength about him, a steadiness that I could only envy.

“What did Morozzi say?” he asked.

I warred with my conscience. The easier path was to tell Rocco as little as possible. So do we descend to damnation by pleasant steps. I owed him more.

“That he will help me.”

He paled and for a moment I thought he would cry out in protest. He was right, of course. What I contemplated was outrageous. Yes, popes throughout the ages had died in all sorts of unsavory ways, probably more of them even than we have guessed. But that was history, this was now.

This was me, Francesca Giordano, the poisoner’s daughter. One lone woman seeking to upturn all of Christendom.

“Only say the word,” I told Rocco, “and I will not come here again.”

For a moment, I feared he would do just that. Certainly, he had no reason to further help the woman who had rejected him. But I had underestimated the courage of a good man who still believed in the power of the Church to save us all, if only it could be saved first.

His large hands, so powerful yet capable of the most delicate touch, closed on my shoulders. With utmost seriousness, he said, “Never speak of such a thing. I was your father’s friend and I am yours. What Innocent intends is evil. Have faith, Francesca, that God has chosen you to stop him.”

I was certain that had he even suspected my true nature—the darkness within me that howled for blood and death—Rocco would have never said what he did. But weak thing that I was, I could only be grateful for the false light in which he saw me.

He let me go then with murmured farewells on my part and a reminder from him that his door was always open.

Relieved by what my visit had accomplished, yet sensibly afraid of the course upon which I was now irrevocably embarked, I stole back to the palazzo. Scarcely had I regained my room than Vittoro appeared to tell me that Madonna Lucrezia had sent a message requesting my presence.

Is there a Roman alive who does not love
la campagna
? Proud city dwellers all, we nonetheless will seize any excuse to take a jaunt into the countryside to gape at the stolid tillers of the earth, chase after irate livestock, and generally make fools of ourselves. And what better time to do it than summer when the city swelters and, let us be honest, stinks.

Giulia la Bella had conceived such an excursion to bolster the spirits of her harried lover, and Lucrezia had invited me along. I was reluctant, feeling bound by duty to remain where I was, but my refusal would have raised suspicion. Besides, Il Cardinale was heading the party and where he went, so should I.

We traveled in several barges up the Tiber with what seemed like the whole of two households—guards, retainers, servants, musicians, chefs, and priests, not to mention dogs, several horses, La Bella’s parrot who squawked the whole way, and a pig. I have no idea
what the last was doing there, but as it was also on the return trip, I have to assume it was someone’s pet.

A few miles north of the city, we put in at the pretty little villa La Bella had from her absent Orsini husband. It was far enough beyond the limits of Rome to be surrounded by lush forests and pleasant streams but convenient for a day’s excursion. The servants were lined up along the bankside to welcome us and to help with the multitude of crates, baskets, and bundles required for even a day’s visit to the country.

La Bella herself was assisted from the barge by no less than Il Cardinale, who hovered over her with tender regard. She had just begun to show but exaggerated the effect by thrusting her belly forward while she smiled at him. Borgia was far from a doting old fool, but he knew how to play one when the occasion called for it.

Lucrezia ran ahead, calling to me to follow her. I did so but not before I had a quick word with the villa’s steward who broke off his harried supervision of the unloading to attend me. He knew who I was, word having spread through the usual channels. I perceived that I made him nervous but that is to be expected in my profession. Frankly, it is often an advantage. He accepted my instructions without objection—no food, drink, dishes, utensils, or linens except what we had brought with us unless inspected by me first—and confirmed that there was no new staff within the villa. Vittoro had sent along a lieutenant who I knew would inspect the Cardinal’s quarters before Borgia entered them, looking for any concealed traps or weapons.

Having done all I could, I followed Lucrezia and found her in the small courtyard at the center of the villa. She was turning round and round in a circle, her arms flung out and her head tilted to the sky. Doves rose from their cotes, fluttering in the branches of the trees. It was a pretty sight.

“Isn’t it wonderful here, Francesca?” she exclaimed. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to live in the country all the time?”

“Don’t you think you would become bored?” I asked, smiling at her.

She stopped turning and at the same time, turned serious. “Of course I wouldn’t. After all, I would have a husband and children to tend to.”

If you find it ironic that the woman who wanted only to be a devoted wife and mother is condemned by the world for licentiousness and worse, be assured that I do, too.

Her mood lightened at once. She gave me a teasing look, which I knew from experience meant that she had a secret that she was bursting to share.

“La Bella has a surprise for
Papà,
” she said.

I would have thought that informing her sixty-one-year-old lover that he was going to become a father yet again had been surprise enough for Borgia, but apparently Giulia had more in store for him.

“A masque,” Lucrezia announced and clapped her hands. “We brought costumes and we’ve been rehearsing scenes from the
romanzos.
The musicians have composed a special piece and there is even scenery. It will all be quite wonderful.”

“I’m sure it will be,” I said, though privately I dreaded such things. My aversion was inherited from my father, who disapproved of such events on the grounds that once people are in costumes and masks, you cannot be sure who they are or what threat they may present. Also, the inside of a mask is a particularly good place to put poison, which will enter quickly through the membranes of the eyes, nose, or mouth and—

My apologies. It is not my purpose to provide you with such instruction. Heaven forbid. Let us just say that my dour thoughts
could not survive Lucrezia’s enthusiasm. She seized my hand and drew me off to help with this and that, needing me to hear her lines, review her dance steps, and generally make myself useful, not in the least by inspecting everything they intended to use. It was only after several hours that I realized she was diverting me deliberately.

“You have been so sad,” she said when I challenged her. “I only wish to raise your spirits.”

“That is very kind of you,” I replied even though I did not believe her entirely. Not that Lucrezia was given to lying; she was far more honest than most people I have known. But like all of us, she could have more than one reason for her actions.

At the moment, she seemed interested only in getting me into the costume that she had brought along for me.

“You must,” she insisted when I protested. “Everyone will be someone else tonight.
Papà
is Jupiter, Giulia is Venus, of course, and I am to be Diana. I have the most clever silver bow. You are Minerva. I even have an owl for you, but don’t worry, it is in a cage.”

Being chosen to portray the goddess of wisdom was sufficiently flattering to still my objections. Even so, I was not entirely comfortable in the thin linen chiton fastened at the sleeves with small gold clasps and belted at my waist that she had brought for me. It was undeniably far more comfortable in such warm weather than my usual clothing, but it left me feeling as though I wore almost nothing.

I saw no sign that anyone else was self-conscious in such garb as we all gathered for supper and the entertainment. On the contrary, Borgia looked entirely at ease in his purple-trimmed toga, which seemed to suit him much better than any ecclesiastical robe ever would. He was laughing with La Bella who, I must say, made an exquisite Venus. Her chiton was considerably thinner than mine, so
much so as to reveal the dark aureoles of her nipples. She wore it with aplomb.