Poison: A Novel of the Renaissance (21 page)

I looked up in astonishment. A square of light pierced the darkness, revealing an opening almost twenty feet up the wall, very near the ceiling. Within that light, peering down at us, I saw a familiar face.

“Vittoro,” I exclaimed. “How . . . ?”

A rope dropped directly in front of us. “Later, Donna. Right now, we have to go.”

David grabbed me around the waist and boosted me up. I seized
the rope and, hanging on for dear life, climbed. My heart hammered painfully and my arms burned from my exertions but finally, after what seemed an interminable time but likely was no more than moments, my nose cleared the opening to the passage. Vittoro grabbed hold of me and pulled me into a stone-lined passage too low for us to do anything other than crouch.

A heartbeat later, David followed. We squeezed together near the narrow opening. Vittoro seized the lamp he had brought and gestured behind us into the darkness.

“This way leads to the outer wall. You’ll be out of here in no time.”

Below I could hear the portcullis rising. Morozzi had returned with guards. “Bring more torches,” the priest shouted, and then, “Where are they?
Where are they!
”

We fled as quickly and as silently as possible, bent over almost double as we skittered after Vittoro, who moved with astonishing speed for one his age. My knees and elbows banged repeatedly against the stone and soon throbbed. I could only imagine how much more difficult it was for David, who was taller than either Vittoro or I, but the steady cadence of his breath close behind me reassured me that he was managing and at the same time urged me on. The passage sloped upward, making the going even more difficult. My monk’s robe kept tangling around my legs, making the ascent even more arduous and exhausting.

When we were far enough away from the prison chamber to speak safely, I caught my breath and asked, “Where are we?”

Over his shoulder, Vittoro replied. “Inside one of the air shafts that run all through the walls of the
castel
. The old Romans who built this place weren’t fools. House of the dead though it was intended to be, people came here to honor the old emperor. Without
air, they wouldn’t be able to burn torches, much less breathe. These shafts were the solution.”

I thought of the windowless chambers we had come through and nodded.

“How did you find us?” David asked from behind me.

In the flickering lamplight, I saw Vittoro’s smile. “I had a fair idea what you intended and I thought I’d keep an eye out in case your ‘friend’ back there turned out to be a problem.”

Thank God he had, but even so, I was bewildered. “I don’t understand. How did you even know where to look?”

“I served with the garrison here for ten years, most of it deadly dull duty. To keep from going mad, I amused myself by climbing all over this place, discovering everything I could about it. There are only a handful of places where Morozzi could take you unaware and trap you, if that was what he intended. I just kept looking until I found you.”

So easily did he dismiss the accomplishment that had saved our lives and a great deal more besides. I was about to say so when we came alongside a cutout in the exterior wall and I found myself staring out over the city in the direction of Saint Peter’s. I could see the crumbling basilica clearly. To my left, the river curved away into darkness.

“Does anyone else know about this?” David asked. I understood what he was thinking. Morozzi had sounded the alarm. If guards entered the air shaft, we could be trapped again.

“Damn few,” Vittoro said. “Most of the lads were never as curious as me. But no one who does know will say anything to that crazed priest.”

David looked unconvinced. “Why not?”

The captain grinned. “Because they want Borgia to be the next
pope, that’s why. They know he’ll take better care of them than any of the other cardinals would.”

“Borgia can’t be pope,” I said. “Not now. Morozzi will accuse him of sending us to kill Innocent. No matter how much gold he has, it won’t be enough to make people forget that.”

“Morozzi won’t say a word,” Vittoro said. “Oh, he’ll want to, but he’ll understand that with you gone, he has no proof.”

I was mulling that over, realizing that it just might be true, when David said, “That still won’t help my people, not if Innocent lives long enough to issue the edict.”

He looked at me as he spoke. Knowing as I did now that it was Morozzi, not Innocent, who had ordered my father’s murder, David could be forgiven for doubting that I would be willing to proceed. But in that he was mistaken. Somewhere in the days between when I had first entered the ghetto and when I left it carrying Rebecca’s blood, the Jews had become human to me. My new sense of them did not lessen my thirst for vengeance, but it did create a fierce need to complete the task for which my father had given his life and in so doing deny Morozzi his victory.

Grasping Vittoro’s arm, I said, “We can’t leave, not yet. We have to finish what we came here to do.”

Vittoro looked at me like I was a mad woman. “I can’t get you to Innocent, especially not now. Morozzi won’t make any accusations, but he will make sure that the Pope is secure.”

“That may be, but he thinks he has the means by which I intended to kill Innocent.” Briefly, I told Vittoro about the locket. “He’ll believe that we’ve been disarmed, but he’s wrong.”

“How so?” Vittoro demanded.

From a padded pouch hidden beneath my gown, I drew the vial Sofia had filled. Vittoro stared at it as I said, “Because I still have the
means and I don’t have to get to Innocent. I just have to get to wherever the boys being bled for him are kept.”

The captain took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I saw the uncertainty play across his face. He knew that the safest course was to get us out of the
castel
as quickly as possible. Innocent would die under any circumstances, probably sooner rather than later, and Borgia would have his chance to become pope.

But none of that would happen quickly enough to stop the destruction of the Jews. Now more than ever, the mad Morozzi would be determined to see to it that the edict dooming them was issued without further delay.

“The Cardinal—” Vittoro began.

“Did he send you here?” I interrupted, anxious to stop him from saying what I feared he would. He was Borgia’s man, that much he had made clear to me. But did that mean that he would put Il Cardinale’s interests above all others?

“No,” Vittoro said. “He doesn’t know anything about this.” With a shrug, he added, “I thought about what you said, that he wouldn’t want to know. I decided you were right.”

Praise God. Perhaps there was a chance after all.

“I can do this, Vittoro, I truly can. The method is not foolproof but it has a good chance of succeeding. I don’t even need much time.” That last part was not necessarily true. If I found what I needed right away, well and good, otherwise . . .

“Get Francesca out,” David said. “Just give me an idea of how to find the Pope’s apartments and I’ll do the rest.”

Before I could protest, Vittoro was shaking his head. “You’d never find your way. The rats get lost in this place.” With a heavy sigh, he said, “If Morozzi gets what he wants, he won’t stop at the Jews. His kind never does. He won’t be satisfied until we’re all under the boot.”

“It’s too bad most people don’t realize that,” David said drily.

“Most people don’t know their ass from their elbow,” Vittoro replied. At once, he added, “Sorry, Donna, I’m an old soldier and plainspoken.”

I squeezed his hand, aware that my eyes were damp. “Don’t apologize, Vittoro, and for heaven’s sake, stop calling me Donna. I’m as much a lady as you are.”

Both men laughed, more with relief, I think, than at my poor wit. That readily the matter was settled.

We climbed—Vittoro, David, and I—as the air shaft continued steeply upward and around the curve of the
castel
. Twice more we passed cutouts in the walls and I glimpsed the city slumbering below. Finally, the shaft ended in a large square opening through which I could see only the night sky.

“Where are we?” I asked as Vittoro began to pull himself out. David followed and hoisted me up onto what I discovered with one startled glance was the roof of the
castel
. We stood at the feet of the Commander of God’s Army, patron saint of warriors, he who I have since learned the Prophet Daniel calls the great prince who will stand for the Jews at the time of tribulation to come. Above us, the Archangel Michael rose in majesty, a stern and determined gaze on his handsome face. And below—

Fortunately, I have a good head for heights but it was tested that night. Even David looked less than at ease as we scrambled across
the roof and down into another shaft that brought us out on the fourth and uppermost level of the fortress. We descended into a small passageway lined with flaking frescoes of sunlit villas where men and women with dark, liquid eyes gazed at us mutely from across time. Finally, we came to a small paneled door.

Vittoro pressed his ear to it, listening intently. After a moment, he straightened and nodded to us. “On the other side is a corridor that leads to the papal apartments. If Morozzi isn’t there already, he will be soon, but first he’ll have sent for the edict.”

“What do you mean, sent for?” I asked.

“It isn’t here,” Vittoro explained. “It’s at the Vatican. Borgia’s managed to keep it tied up in the Curia, but Morozzi won’t wait any longer, not with a threat to the Pope. He’ll insist that Innocent himself has called for it and he’ll try to get it signed without further delay.”

“But first he has to get it here,” David said, grasping the situation even as I did.

“So we have a little time but not much,” I concluded.

Vittoro nodded. “Borgia has left instructions that the edict isn’t to go anywhere without his permission, but by morning—”

He left the rest unsaid yet I was hopeful all the same. The Vatican was a bureaucracy to rival any in the world. Morozzi could utter all the demands he liked in the name of the Pope, but proper form had to be followed. Some official would have to be awakened and the situation explained to him. That person in turn would have to send word to Borgia, who would have to be found. My guess was that he would be spending the night in fair Giulia’s bed rather than his own. Once he was located, he would have to array himself properly—Il Cardinale never went anywhere without due regard for his dignity. By then, he would know that I was missing along with Vittoro. He
would conclude that something was in the works and he would move cautiously, which invariably meant slowly.

Which did not mean that we could do the same. “Do you know where the boys are?” I asked.

“At the opposite end of the corridor from the Pope’s apartments. Innocent is squeamish, he doesn’t like them too close to him, but he wants them kept nearby all the same.”

“Is there likely to be a physician with them?” David asked.

Vittoro nodded. “From what the lads told me, this is the hour when they are bled.”

“Why so late?” I asked.

“Innocent fears the night,” Vittoro said with a shrug. “He has turned it into day.”

We crept out of the narrow passage and down the corridor. David went first with me following. Vittoro stayed behind to play his part in the plan we had quickly worked out. It was not much of a plan, but given what we knew, it was the best we could hope for.

We had gone only a little way along the corridor before I stopped and grabbed David’s cloak. “Do you hear that?” I whispered.

He started to shake his head but listened instead and, after a moment, nodded grimly. “We’re close.”

We had heard the whimper of a child, a small and plaintive sound that tore at my heart. Try though I did to steel myself, I could not manage it. For reasons I did not begin to understand, I had a sudden sense of being immured behind the wall of my nightmare, peering out through a tiny hole that revealed horror.

The whimpering grew stronger. My breath was labored but I pressed on, following David. At the end of the corridor, we stopped before a closed door. The sound came from the other side. I took a breath. David did the same and eased open the door.

Beyond lay a small, windowless chamber lit by lamps set in niches in the walls and simply furnished with four narrow beds, a table, and several stools. The beds were all occupied by young boys, about eight or nine years old. Three of them were huddled under the covers but the stiffness of their bodies indicated they were not asleep. The fourth was awake. He was a thin, pale boy of about the same age as the others, with a mass of dark curls and eyes filled with terror. He lay on his back, his left arm stretched out over a bowl into which his blood dripped from a deep cut. Other unhealed cuts were visible all along his arm.

A physician in a crimson velvet gown and embroidered cap was attending to him. He ignored the boy’s weak cries as he squeezed his thin arm to make the blood run more thickly. I turned away, feeling sick. With my back pressed against the wall, I closed my eyes and struggled for calm. There was nothing we could do to help the boy, absolutely nothing. He and the others like him could be saved only by Innocent’s death.

When I looked again, the physician had finished the bleeding and was transferring the blood from the bowl into a jar on the table beside the bed. Unattended, the boy continued to bleed. He whimpered once more and I had to put my knuckles in my mouth to keep from shouting.

David pressed my shoulder, tilted his head in silent warning to stay back, and stepped into the room. The friar’s robe and hood covered him entirely. His arms were folded and concealed in the sleeves of the robe. He kept his head bent and his voice soft.

“Signore dottore,”
he said to the physician, “Father Morozzi wishes to have a word with you.”

The doctor looked up, stared at David for a moment, then frowned. “He knows I am busy.”

“Of course, signore, but he says this is urgent. If you would come with me, I am certain it will only take a few minutes.”

The physician appeared to waiver. The thought of refusing Morozzi seemed to trouble him, but so did the need to complete his task. “The Holy Father’s treatment is not yet ready. I cannot simply leave—”