silence.
“Brother,” he whispered. “This is all on account of Leticia.”
“A lie!” said Lodovico thickly. “How dare you?”
“Oh, if only I’d known,” said Niccolò. “What is she but one of many lovely young maidens who might have been to me a gentle bride? If only I’d known.”
Signore Antonio glowered at Lodovico.
“Leticia, is it?” he whispered.
“I tell you, these Jews have bewitched him. I tell you it is they who put the poison in the caviar, I tell you I am innocent.” He was weeping, he was angry, he was whispering and muttering, and once again, he spoke. “It was this one, Vitale, who brought the flower to the house. I remember it now. How else should he and his friend know of its power? I tell you, this one, this Toby, is convicted out of his own mouth.”
The old man shook his head at the pity of it.
“Come,” said Signore Antonio. He gestured for his armed servants to take Lodovico in hand. He looked at me. “Take me down to the orangery and show me this medicine.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
T HE YOUNG MAN’S FACE WAS TWISTED WITH MALICE . The very plasticity which had given him such easy grief before now gave him a mask of fury. He pushed the armed men off and walked with his head high as we descended the steps, and gathered, all of us, save for Niccolò, of course, in the orangery.
There stood the plant, and I pointed out the many black seeds which had fallen already into the soil. I pointed out the half-withered flowers already harboring the poison.
A servant was sent to find some poor stray dog that it might be brought into the house, and soon the yelps of the poor little beast were echoing up the broad stairway.
Vitale stared at the purple flowers in horror. Signore Antonio merely glowered at it, and the two priests stood staring coldly at me and at Vitale as though we were still somehow responsible for what had happened here.
An elderly woman, much bewildered and frightened, produced a crockery dish for the poor starved dog and went to fill it with water.
I put back on the gloves I’d removed to play the lute, and requesting Lodovico’s dagger, I gathered the seeds into a heap and then looked around for something with which to crushthem. Only the handle of the dagger was at hand. And so I used it to make a powder, a good pinch of which I now put into the dog’s water. I put in another pinch and yet another.
The animal drank thirstily and miserably and licked at the bare dish and then immediately began to twitch. It fell on its side, and then on its back and writhed in its agony. In a moment, it had become rigid, its eyes staring dully at nothing and no one.
All watched this little spectacle with revulsion and horror, including me.
But Lodovico was incensed, staring at the priests, and at his father, and then at the dog.
“I swear I am innocent of this!” he declared. “The Jews know the poison. The Jews brought it here. Why, it was this very Jew Vitale who brought the plant to the house …”
“You contradict your story,” said Antonio. “You lie. You stammer. You beg for credence like a coward!”
“I tell you I had no part in it!” cried out the desperate man. “These Jews have bewitched me as they have bewitched my brother. If this thing was done by me, it was in a sleep in which I knew nothing. It was in a sleep in which I wandered, carrying out the acts they forced me to carry out. What do you know of these Jews? You speak of their holy books, but what do you know of these books but that they aren’t filled with the witchcraft that drove me to this? Doesn’t the demon rage in the accursed house at this very hour?”
“Signore Antonio,” said the elder priest, the one with the sharp yet gentle features. “Something must be said of this demon. People in the street can hear it howl. Is all this beyond what a demon can do? I think not!”
Lodovico had a thousand protests—that yes, it was the demon, and yes, it had worked its sinister magic on him,
“Brother,” he whispered. “This is all on account of Leticia.”
“A lie!” said Lodovico thickly. “How dare you?”
“Oh, if only I’d known,” said Niccolò. “What is she but one of many lovely young maidens who might have been to me a gentle bride? If only I’d known.”
Signore Antonio glowered at Lodovico.
“Leticia, is it?” he whispered.
“I tell you, these Jews have bewitched him. I tell you it is they who put the poison in the caviar, I tell you I am innocent.” He was weeping, he was angry, he was whispering and muttering, and once again, he spoke. “It was this one, Vitale, who brought the flower to the house. I remember it now. How else should he and his friend know of its power? I tell you, this one, this Toby, is convicted out of his own mouth.”
The old man shook his head at the pity of it.
“Come,” said Signore Antonio. He gestured for his armed servants to take Lodovico in hand. He looked at me. “Take me down to the orangery and show me this medicine.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
T HE YOUNG MAN’S FACE WAS TWISTED WITH MALICE . The very plasticity which had given him such easy grief before now gave him a mask of fury. He pushed the armed men off and walked with his head high as we descended the steps, and gathered, all of us, save for Niccolò, of course, in the orangery.
There stood the plant, and I pointed out the many black seeds which had fallen already into the soil. I pointed out the half-withered flowers already harboring the poison.
A servant was sent to find some poor stray dog that it might be brought into the house, and soon the yelps of the poor little beast were echoing up the broad stairway.
Vitale stared at the purple flowers in horror. Signore Antonio merely glowered at it, and the two priests stood staring coldly at me and at Vitale as though we were still somehow responsible for what had happened here.
An elderly woman, much bewildered and frightened, produced a crockery dish for the poor starved dog and went to fill it with water.
I put back on the gloves I’d removed to play the lute, and requesting Lodovico’s dagger, I gathered the seeds into a heap and then looked around for something with which to crushthem. Only the handle of the dagger was at hand. And so I used it to make a powder, a good pinch of which I now put into the dog’s water. I put in another pinch and yet another.
The animal drank thirstily and miserably and licked at the bare dish and then immediately began to twitch. It fell on its side, and then on its back and writhed in its agony. In a moment, it had become rigid, its eyes staring dully at nothing and no one.
All watched this little spectacle with revulsion and horror, including me.
But Lodovico was incensed, staring at the priests, and at his father, and then at the dog.
“I swear I am innocent of this!” he declared. “The Jews know the poison. The Jews brought it here. Why, it was this very Jew Vitale who brought the plant to the house …”
“You contradict your story,” said Antonio. “You lie. You stammer. You beg for credence like a coward!”
“I tell you I had no part in it!” cried out the desperate man. “These Jews have bewitched me as they have bewitched my brother. If this thing was done by me, it was in a sleep in which I knew nothing. It was in a sleep in which I wandered, carrying out the acts they forced me to carry out. What do you know of these Jews? You speak of their holy books, but what do you know of these books but that they aren’t filled with the witchcraft that drove me to this? Doesn’t the demon rage in the accursed house at this very hour?”
“Signore Antonio,” said the elder priest, the one with the sharp yet gentle features. “Something must be said of this demon. People in the street can hear it howl. Is all this beyond what a demon can do? I think not!”
Lodovico had a thousand protests—that yes, it was the demon, and yes, it had worked its sinister magic on him,
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