Poison: A Novel of the Renaissance (22 page)

“My brother in Christ will watch over it for you,” David said, and moved aside so I could enter the room.

I, too, kept my head down and my hands concealed, knowing full well that the sight of them would betray me as a female.

For a moment, I thought the physician would refuse, but he only shook his head in exasperation and stepped away from the bed. “Touch nothing,” he said to me in passing. Leaving the room, David gave me a quick glance, all the reminder I needed that I would have very little time.

As soon as the physician was gone, I sprang across the room. The boy who had just been bled stared at me. I put a finger to my lips, praying he would stay silent, and quickly drew the vial of blood from underneath my gown. The other boys did not move at all; I suspect they were too terrified or weakened by what had been done to them to take any notice of what was happening.

That left the problem of what to do with the blood already in the jar. The smell of copper rising from it made me gag. I held my breath, took hold of the jar, and looked around frantically. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the boy move. He lifted his other arm, also showing signs of many cuts, and pointed under his bed.

I dove down, careful of the vial, and found the piss pot. With a sigh of relief, I poured the blood into it and shoved the pot back under the bed. With that done, I shook the vial several times as Sofia had instructed me so that the blood, which had begun to separate
into a thin, yellowish serum floating on the top and a thicker, almost solid red base, would be mixed together again. As soon as I saw that it was, I poured it into the jar and set that back on the table exactly where it had been.

Through all this, the boy continued to watch me silently. By the time I finished, I could hear Vittoro’s voice out in the corridor where he had waited to intercept David and the physician.

“A thousand apologies,
dottore,
” Vittoro was saying. “Father Morozzi had to leave unexpectedly but I am sure he will want to speak with you later.”

“Damn nuisance being called away like that,” the physician complained. “The Holy Father is waiting. I really can’t be expected to be everywhere at once.”

He stepped back into the room to find me pressing a bandage to the boy’s arm. Of course, I should not have done it. No, I do not have any explanation for why I did. Except that he was a child, terrified and in pain. You would have done the same, surely?

“What are you doing?” the doctor demanded. “I told you not to touch anything.”

David stepped forward quickly. “Brother . . . Francis means well,
dottore
. He used to care for . . . horses. I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm, did you, Brother?”

Mutely, I shook my head all the while wishing the
dottore
and his kind to the seventh circle of Hell. Indeed, it pleased me to imagine him immersed there in the Phlegethon, the river of boiling blood, where I heartily hoped he would spend eternity.

“We’ll be off then,” Vittoro said. “Again, apologies
dottore.
”

The physician was still grumbling as we sped down the corridor.

“Were you successful?” David asked as we went.

I assured him that we had been and we slipped back into the
passage, following it to the roof, which we crossed again, coming down into another passage from which we emerged into a second courtyard on the military level. By this time I fully appreciated what Vittoro had said about even the rats getting lost in the
castel
. I was completely disoriented and would have had no idea where to go had not the captain been there to guide us.

We had just reached the courtyard when we came across the patrol—a dozen guards in breastplates and plumed helmets, armed with pikes and scabbards. They were moving at a trot across the open space. Elsewhere, we could hear the sound of pounding feet.

Pressed back into the shadows along the wall, we waited until the patrol had passed. My heart pounded against my protesting ribs. If we were caught now, Morozzi would have everything he needed to accuse us and more. Someone would realize that we had been near the blood meant for the Pope. The boys would be questioned—

Bile rose in my throat. I prayed as I have never prayed in my life, but my prayers were not very good all the same. They consisted mainly of warning God that if He allowed any such thing to happen, I would know that he was a fake and a fraud, a trickster god undeserving of our adoration. That is probably not the best way to win the favor of the Almighty.

“They’ll be sealing off the exits,” Vittoro said when the patrol had moved on. “Morozzi’s one chance now is to stop you from getting out of here.”

“But you already thought of that,” David said. “Right?”

The captain shrugged. “To tell the truth, I was more interested in finding you. I figured I’d work out the rest afterward.”

“Perhaps there is somewhere we can hide,” I suggested quickly. “Until the furor dies down. Then we could just slip out.”

Vittoro shook his head. “There are a hundred places, maybe
more, but you risk being discovered in any of them. It would be smarter to get you out now. I’ll stay behind and sow as much confusion as I can. The lads won’t mind. As I said, they’re on Borgia’s side.”

“The captain is right,” David said. “Besides, if we succeed and Innocent dies, the
castel
will be locked down until the fight for the spoils is decided.”

I had to agree with that. Too well, I remembered what had happened eight years before, when Pope Sixtus IV died. Along with my father and most of Borgia’s household, I had evacuated to the countryside while the Cardinal fought his great—and losing—battle to take the papacy. Gangs had rioted in the streets, fires burned throughout Rome, and chaos reigned until the conclave of cardinals finally chose a compromise candidate. It could be much the same again.

“You have to go,” Vittoro said. He looked around quickly and came to a decision. “This way.”

We went on, down a few steps, a few more before we had to stop to let another patrol go by. Pressed against the wall, I held my breath as a young guardsman glanced back over his shoulder and frowned, as though he had seen or heard something. He went on after a moment and I breathed again, but it was clear to me that we could not remain in the
castel
much longer and still hope to go undetected.

We came at last into a vast room filled with clay pots that came as high as my waist and were set in wooden frames that held them upright. This was the
castel
’s oil storage area, at the far end of which Vittoro stopped.

Off in the distance we could hear the tread of patrols on the move, interspersed with shouted orders.

“This is where it gets a bit tricky,” Vittoro said.

Those were not the words I wanted to hear just then, but I kept that thought to myself as he continued.

“There is a shaft. It cuts straight down through the walls and comes out above the moat.” He looked at both of us. “Can you swim?”

I nodded, as did David. Neither one of us showed much enthusiasm at the prospect of diving into the moat, which was bound to be as filthy as such places always are.

“Won’t we be seen?” David asked.

Vittoro shook his head. “The shaft comes out on a side of the
castel
where there are no gates, no passages, nothing but what looks to be solid wall. Standard procedure is to mass guards at the main gate and deploy smaller forces to the two other sides, where there are hidden entrances. That’s where they’ll be watching.”

As he spoke, Vittoro uncoiled the rope he had used to hoist us out of the prison room. “Another reason they don’t bother guarding this side is that the shaft is almost vertical. Anyone falling from this height would be killed.”

“So we can’t just slide down it?” David asked.

“Not unless you’re eager to meet your Maker.” Hefting the rope, Vittoro grinned. “Who wants to go first?”

David unfastened the black cloak and pulled the white robe off over his head. He dropped both onto the floor of the storage room. “They will weigh me down in the water,” he said, misinterpreting my look of surprise. I understood perfectly well why he was taking off the garments. However, if he assumed he would be going first, he was wrong.

“We don’t know how wide the shaft is, do we?” I pointed out. “I stand a better chance of being able to get through and at the same time discover if you can make it. Otherwise, you could become stuck, trapped in there with no way out.”

“She has a point,” Vittoro said reluctantly. “I’ve dropped a rope down the shaft but I’ve never been down it myself. I can only guess at its width.”

“It’s too dangerous,” David insisted. “She’d be in the water alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. Without waiting for them to agree, I stripped
off my own robe and for good measure also removed my overdress. Vittoro had fixed a loop in one end of the rope. I took it and dropped it over my head, pulling it snug under my arms.

With a glance into the dark shaft, I took a breath. “I’m ready.”

Of course, I was not, but there is no way to prepare for such a task. Far better to simply get it over with. Following Vittoro’s instructions, I sat down on the edge of the opening.

“Lower yourself slowly,” he directed. “I’ll let the rope out little by little. If it’s too tight around you, you can take some of your weight off by pressing your legs and arms against the sides of the shaft. If there’s a problem, tug on the rope and I’ll bring you back up.”

I nodded as though I understood, when in fact all I knew was that I was going into a dark, dank hole that, if I survived the descent, would dump me out into a filthy moat. At the last moment, just before I grabbed hold of the rope, I looked up at David.

“When you reach the water, whatever you do make sure not to swallow any of it. If you go under, don’t inhale. Any surface water brings the flux, but what is in that moat will kill us for certain.”

“Too bad we couldn’t give it to Innocent,” he said with a strained smile.

Vittoro stood ready. I could see the worry in his eyes and mustered a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. You didn’t save us from Morozzi just for me to drown in a few feet of fetid water.”

His voice gruff, he said, “I pray that is so.”

I reached over and squeezed his hand. “My father considered you a friend. Now I understand why.”

“Giovanni would be proud of you,” Vittoro said. “Any father would be.”

My chest tightened. I nodded once, then took as deep a breath as I could manage. Putting my trust in God, Saint Michael, and above
all, in the stalwart soldier who had gone into the lion’s den to save a sinner, I lowered myself into the shaft. Instantly, the air turned clammy. From far below, I could smell the stench of human waste, offal, slime, dead carcasses, and heaven only knew what else that was tossed or fell into the moat. I swallowed hard and tried not to think about the absence of anything solid beneath my dangling feet or the protests of my abused ribs.

Too soon, the light of the chamber above narrowed to a small square and I was in darkness. Vittoro let the rope out very slowly. Afraid that he would be left with little strength to lower David, I stretched out my limbs to the sides of the shaft and began to inch downward. The process was both painstaking and painful. The sharp stones scraped my skin as darkness closed in from all sides. I would not say that I have difficulty being in small spaces, not in the way I have heard some people describe, but such surroundings tend to provoke thoughts of my nightmare, which I would gladly have dispensed with just then.

In an effort to collect myself, I closed my eyes. Behind my shuttered lids I saw the falling flash of steel and for just an instant, I thought I smelled blood. Quickly, I opened my eyes again and discovered that they had adjusted to the darkness enough for me to make out the rough stones lining the shaft. By watching carefully, I was better able to place my hands, knees, and feet to lessen further injury.

As I continued to descend, I was heartened that the shaft was wide enough for David, but I still feared that I would encounter some obstruction before I reached the bottom. When I was able to proceed without incident, it seemed that my prayers were being answered. Excitement filled me as I realized that I could see a patch of dim light below where the shaft ended. I was preparing myself as
best I could for the moment when I would be lowered into the filthy water when suddenly the rope pulled tight, halting my descent. From high above, I heard Vittoro curse.

A moment later, the problem became evident. The rope was too short. I could go no further. If Vittoro had to haul me back up, everything would be for naught and we would still be trapped.

Twisting around, I managed to wedge myself against one side of the shaft as best I could with enough of my weight on my feet and knees to give a little slack on the rope. With difficulty, I pulled it off over my head. For a moment, I held on to the rope with both hands. I had no idea how far the distance was to the moat or whether the water would be deep enough to cushion my fall. Neither did I have any choice.

I took the deepest breath I could manage, clinched my eyes and mouth tight shut, and let go.

I fell a heart-stopping distance that was probably not more than ten feet. Landing in the moat, I sank quickly. My feet touched a disgustingly soft bottom that seemed to tug at me. With all my strength, I swam for the surface, breaking through a thick layer of slime.

Once my head was clear of the water, I shook off as much as I could before opening my eyes and drawing breath. The stench was overpowering. I struck out for the opposite side of the moat only to discover that the level of the water was several feet lower than the adjacent ground. For a horrible moment, I thought I might be trapped. When I saw the glint of iron rungs driven into the stone, I almost cried out in relief.

By the time I had scrambled up them and collapsed flat on the grassy verge opposite the
castel,
David had dropped into the moat. I watched, hardly breathing, until he surfaced, then pointed him to
the rungs. He joined me, both of us dripping with malodorous ooze, and together we ran for the riverbank.