The Food Taster

by Peter Elbling

  'Leave it, leave it!' He took it from me with his fat little hands. 'It is meadow saffron. Deadly. Very deadly. One bite and your mouth burns like the flames of hell. You suffer violent stomach pains for precisely three days. And then you die.'

  So he did know about poisons, and I could tell that with a little flattery he would be only too happy to teach me everything he knew. 'You must be very brave to live among so much death. I would be scared.'

  'Ugo,' he said, allowing himself a small smile, 'Neither of us is a fool, huh? As long as you know what you are doing there is no danger.'

  'But do poisons always take days before they—'

  'Kill someone? No,' he said, carefully replacing the jar. 'Bitter almonds take just a few hours and are even more violent. I have never used them,' he added hastily, 'but I was told a woman in Gubbio poisoned her husband in this manner.'

  'Is that what Federico used to kill his brother?'

  'No, that was aconite.' He stopped. 'I did not—' he began.

  'What about Luca?'

  'Luca? Luca was filthy. He did not wash enough, there was dirt under his nails. Federico just told everyone he tried to poison him to scare -' he stopped. His cheek twitched. 'I have spoken too much.'

  'I have seen this, too.' I said, and quickly held up another jar.

  'Yes, dandelion. That is nothing. But this,' he picked up another jar, 'this is wolfsbane. You must have seen it, it grows everywhere. It makes the body tingle and the hands feel furry like a wolf. Then you die. You always die. Sometimes you bleed, sometimes you shit, sometimes you do both. But you always die. And it is always painful. This is henbane,' he said, showing me a smelly green plant. 'It grows best in human shit.' Now that his excitement had been unbound he wanted to show me every page of his knowledge. 'You have heard of Cesare Borgia? He invented a concoction called la tarantella' He closed his eyes as if he was making the potion. 'It is the saliva of a pig hung upside down and beaten until it goes mad.'

  I asked how long he thought that would take. He giggled. 'No more than three days, because is that not how long it would take for you to go mad if you were hung upside down and beaten? But all the poisons together are not as deadly as this.' He held up a small jar of silver-gray powder. 'Arsenic. Just half a fingernail can kill a man. What is more, it is tasteless and odorless. There is immediate vomiting and uncontrollable diarrhea, as well as sharp blinding pains in the head as if someone had drilled nails into the skull. Oh, yes, and terrible itching, too. Some people also experience a giddiness and bleeding through the skin. Finally, complete and utter paralysis.'

  He licked his lips, nodding to himself as if he was making sure he had not left anything out. 'In ancient Romagna, emperors would eat tiny amounts every day to build up a resistance to it.'

  'Did it work?'

  'Who knows?' he tittered, as he returned the jar to the shelf. 'They are all dead.'

  'What would a poisoner from Venezia use?'

  'From Venezia?' He faced me. 'Is someone coming from —?' His cheek twitched again. He dipped his hand into a jar of fat, absentmindedly rubbing it on his head. 'What have you heard?'

  'Nothing. I was just asking. Buona notte.'

  As I returned to the palace, clutching the small amount of arsenic I had stolen, I could not forget the look on Piero's face when I said Venezia. If only for a moment, a ray of hope crossed his eyes like a bird flying across a setting sun; a fleeting ray of hope which served to remind me that even as I was trying to protect Federico, no one would be sorry to see him dead.

  CHAPTER 13

  Pia arrived on a crisp September afternoon with a train of courtiers and servants. She was wrinkled, plump, and even smaller than Emilia. From a distance she looked like a white raisin. She brought a horse for Federico, dresses for Emilia, and gifts for their sons, Giulio and Raffaello. She shared Giovanni's apartment, which she said was too small, and the first night demanded that Federico add a wing to the palace. 'Use my architect. He is a student of Candocci. Everyone says my palazzo is the most beautiful in Venezia.'

  She wandered about talking to anyone she pleased, grabbing them by the elbow and asking them why they did what they did, and telling them how much better and easier it was done in Venezia. Her voice was as loud as a trumpet, twice as shrill, and could travel through walls. She played backgammon with Emilia and Giovanni or cards with Alessandro, her chief adviser. I studied her courtiers closely and was convinced that if any one of them was a poisoner it was Alessandro. He dressed in black from head to toe, had a huge forehead like a slab of white marble, and silver hair which swept back to his shoulders. There was always a golden toothpick stuck between his teeth like a twig of an unfinished nest. Once, when he, Giovanni, Emilia, and Pia were sitting together, I saw Death hovering about them.

  Pia insisted her meals be cooked with butter instead of oil; she said it was fashionable in Germany where she had cousins, and she demanded nuts in everything. 'They are good for the blood,' she screeched. 'Federico, why do you not eat calamari? Tell your cook to cut it into large pieces, boil it with some finely chopped parsley, fry it, and then squeeze a little orange juice over it. My cook, Pagolo — Oh, I so wish I had brought him — makes it twice a week without fail. I could live on it. Emilia tells me you do not eat peaches. Is that true?'

  'He thinks they are poisonous,' Emilia cackled.

  'Just because an ancient king who could not overcome some Egyptians sent them all poisonous peaches,' Giovanni said.

  Federico's bottom lip fell to his chin. Pia, Emilia, and Giovanni did not notice or if they did they did not care.

  Two days later, Tommaso told me he had seen Cristoforo whispering with Alessandro. 'Christ! I knew in my bones that pig was treacherous,' I said, and warned Tommaso to watch his vegetables carefully.

  'You are the one who has to be careful,' he replied. He was right. I did not have the time to experiment with mad pigs. The days were passing swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and as the saying goes, 'God helps those who help themselves.'

  I drank wine with Potero, the keeper of the duke's goblet, and when he fell asleep, I used his key to open Federico's cabinet. Federico's goblet was larger and more magnificent than any other. It had an elegant silver stem and a golden head upon which a lion, a unicorn, and a crab had been beautifully engraved. I filled it with wine and sprinkled in a pinch of arsenic. The arsenic dissolved and I waited for the rainbows to appear on the surface of the wine or for the wine to hiss and sparkle as if it was on fire. Nothing happened. I dipped the unicorn bone into it. According to Tommaso the wine was supposed to froth. Still nothing happened! Perhaps it was the arsenic. Maybe Piero did not know what he was talking about. More likely that fool Tommaso had misheard or misunderstood!

  I found a half-starved tawny cat and offered her the wine. She lapped at it eagerly, stretched her front paws, and walked away, satisfied. She had not gone more than a few steps when she stumbled, her back legs crumbling beneath her. She looked up at me, her yellow eyes questioning me in the darkness. Then she lay down, whining pitifully, and her back stiffened into an ungodly shape. She gave a sigh, trembled, and then lay still. O blessed Jesus! There was nothing wrong with the arsenic. It was the amulets! The bone! The goblet! They were useless! They were worse than useless because they had filled me with false hope.

  I held the goblet in my hand, uncertain what to do next. Then something occurred to me. What if I left a little arsenic in the goblet? And Federico drank it? How would my life change? If no one cared that Federico was killed, then I would be a hero. But if someone did, there would be a hunt for the poisoner. I wondered if anyone had seen me with Potero. Piero would say that I had asked him about poisons. I would be put on the rack. My limbs would be torn apart. I would be hanged or perhaps buried alive head first. Parts of my body would be cut off as Federico had cut out Luca's tongue. Then I would be thrown over the mountain.

  Fearful as these thoughts were, it was not they which deterred me. No, I did not leave arsenic in the goblet b
ecause Potero would surely be the first to die and he had never harmed me. Moreover, whatever ills Federico had brought on others, he had saved Miranda and me from starvation. Finally, I had promised to protect him and I could not betray my promise to God. So I washed and cleaned the goblet with the greatest care and replaced it.

  I did not tell anyone what had happened. Instead, I told Tommaso I had taken the unicorn's bone to Santa Caterina during the full moon and offered it to the golden Madonna. I looked around, and after making sure we were alone, I whispered, 'At the stroke of midnight it grew warm in my hands and glowed in the dark.'

  He looked up at me disbelievingly. "What happened?'

  'The Madonna told me that she has made it so powerful that if someone even thinks of poisoning the food, the bone will crack in half all by itself.'

  He held out his hand. 'Let me see this miracle.'

  'There is nothing to see,' I said, showing him the dark brown bone.

  'Then how do I know you are telling the truth?'

  'Because God is my witness.'

  Like everyone in the palace, in Corsoli, in all of Italy, Tommaso loved to gossip. Even if he knew something was not true, even if he had been with me and seen that nothing I described had happened, he could not resist telling the story — unless he could make up a better one. Can any of us resist if the story is good enough? I was sure mine was good enough, just as I was sure that by the end of the day every servant would know about the bone and by tomorrow the rumor would reach Alessandro. Some of Federico's cunning had rubbed off on me.

  That evening, Federico ate heated calves' brains mixed with eggs, salt, verjuice, and pepper and fried for a very short time with liquamen. He shared some with Bianca.

  'You horse's culo' Pia shrieked. 'You bring this whore to the table in front of my daughter!'

  Federico lurched to his feet, snarling. Nero barked and Pia knew she had made a mistake. Federico pointed to her and, driving a knife into the table, roared in a voice that must have been heard in Urbino. 'You dare to insult me, you ball of pig's fat! From now until you leave, you will live in the tower!'

  Giovanni immediately stood up and pushed himself in front of his mother. Eager to make an impression, a young guard lunged at him, but quick as a snake, Giovanni drew a short thick dagger from his belt and stabbed him three times. The first blow went into his chest. He was already dead when the second blow struck his thigh. The third pierced his right eye, the ball spilling out onto the table. The man fell into a heap at Giovanni's feet. The other guards froze and looked at Federico, who, I believe, was as surprised as they were.

  Speaking in very measured tones, his eyes never wavering from Federico's face, Giovanni said, 'Duke Federico Basillione DiVincelli, I have served you faithfully for many years, but I cannot allow you to insult my mother and sister. It would be best for us to leave Corsoli as soon as possible. I ask only that you give us safe passage.'

  O my soul! Those are the moments by which men are remembered! The way Giovanni addressed Federico by his full title, the eloquent manner of his address. My God! Who knew that little sodomite had such big balls! A most curious expression, almost a smile, came over Federico's face, as if he had finally found his match. He nodded to Giovanni, who, knife in hand, led his sister and his mother out of the hall.

  We could not have been more shocked had an earthquake struck Corsoli. The palace talked of nothing else and everyone guessed as to what would happen next. One day Federico was going to burn them in the tower, the next he was going to massacre them in their beds. He did neither, but instructed Cecchi to arrange for Emilia's, Pia's, and Giovanni's departure. The children would have to stay to ensure that Giovanni would not harm the wool contracts. Emilia begged and wept but Federico would not change his mind. For their journey back to Venezia, Federico agreed to a train of twenty mules guarded by a battalion of soldiers as well as all the servants they needed.

  'It is very generous,' I said. 'There must be some other reason.'

  'This is but a drop of Federico's gold,' Tommaso replied. 'He is just pleased to be rid of them.'

  The first storm of winter swept over the mountains tearing down trees, changing the course of rivers, and drowning animals where they stood. Soaking, starving peasants swarmed into Corsoli besieging the poorhouses and the churches because the hospital was already full of sick feverish people. It was impossible to keep warm. The fires were no use because the wood and the very air itself were damp. Winds whistled through the rooms and hailstones the size of a man's fist broke the windows. Rain poured through holes in the roof and Federico sent servants to fix them. Lightning struck one man, killing him.

  After three days the courtyards were deep in mud. Federico could not hunt or joust, his gout pained him, and he cursed everyone. Bernardo said that according to the stars the rain would let up in two days' time on Ognissanti, All Saints' Day, and if Emilia left then she would have a safe journey home.

  'There is to be a farewell meal,' I told Agnese. 'I will be glad when they have gone.' We were standing in the courtyard, looking toward the hills where the bonfires spluttered weakly. Because of the rain, the parade for Ognissanti had been canceled.

  Agnese took my hand and placed it on her stomach. 'I am to have a baby,' she said.

  'A baby? O merciful God, what joy!' I pulled her to me and kissed her small button nose, her sad gray eyes, and wide mouth.

  She pulled away from me and motioned her head to where Giovanni was watching us from a window in the tower. 'Why are you so afraid of him?' I asked. She shrugged.

  'Because he is a hunchback?'

  She shrugged again, burying her head in my shoulder. 'He is just a man. A little one. Screw him, he will be gone tomorrow.' And to show that I did not care I made the sign of a fig at him, shouted ‘I am to be a father,' and kissed Agnese again. 'Now I must tell Miranda. Soon the whole world will know.' I rushed off and passed someone slipping out of the kitchen. I was too busy thinking about my good fortune to notice who it was. I had to ask Cecchi if Agnese and I could have a room together. I had to ask Federico for a position other than food taster. It was only then that I realized the man coming out of the kitchen had been Alessandro, Pia's adviser. But surely, I thought, he was locked up with Giovanni? New fears so overcame my joys that I could not even remember what I wanted to tell Miranda.

  Bernardo was wrong. It poured with rain on All Saints' Day, but the decision had already been made and Pia and her family were anxious to leave in case Federico changed his mind. All morning, servants loaded Emilia's and Giovanni's trunks into carts and onto horses. The soldiers polished their swords and festooned their horses with banners. At noon, looking pale but proud, Giovanni, Pia, and Emilia and their courtiers were led out of the tower. Some of Agnese's fear had rubbed off on me, so to be safe I told her to stay in the laundry until they had left. 'Now we are to have a baby, you must be even more careful.'

  She smiled and kissed me. The other girls said I would be a good father because I truly loved her. I looked for Tommaso, but I did not see him until I entered the hall. He walked past me and, moving his lips silently, said, 'Poison.'

  CHAPTER 14

  Are we ever more alive than when we are faced with danger? Every sense — seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, tasting — is heightened. Every nerve is on edge. We see nothing but what is important; everything else falls away like well-cooked meat from a bone. My mouth was dry, my armpits stuck to my sides. I had examined my amulets, experimented with poisons, but I was as helpless as a rat in a dog's mouth. I wanted to tell Federico of my fears, but he had said that the next time I suspected something was wrong I would have to taste all the dishes, so I remained silent. Bile rose in my stomach. My heart beat faster. My throat closed up. I could hardly breathe!

  Federico sat next to Bianca at one end of the table while Emilia, Pia, Giovanni, and her advisers, who were dressed in their traveling clothes, sat at the other. First, in honor of the dead, came a white bean soup made in the Tuscan style with ol
ive oil. Then Cristoforo laid a platter of capons in front of Federico. Federico passed his trencher to me and stuck his tongue into Bianca's ear. I watched Cristoforo leave the room. His goiter was its usual pink which meant he was unconcerned. The meal looked delicious and smelled even more so. Cristoforo had used more oil than usual. That was it! More oil would hide the poison. I sniffed at the trencher. Was that poison? I turned it to the side and sniffed at it again. Federico's voice came at me from out of a mist. 'Is something wrong?'

  'Nothing, Your Excellency.'

  Even though I had made up the story about the unicorn bone breaking in two if the food was poisoned, I prayed it was true! As I bit into the bird I called on God, Christ, the Madonna, and every saint who ever existed. Then I tasted the capon on my tongue. O Lord be praised. I have said before that I had lost all enjoyment of food, and it was true, but when I sampled that first bite the pleasure which had been stored up for so long exploded into my mouth.

  The meat fluttered, yes, it fluttered on my tongue. The olive oil had browned the bird to perfection and Cristoforo had added just a dash of mustard. The combination was so unexpected that my taste buds surrendered. I waited for an unfamiliar taste, for something to burn my palate. There was none. I passed the trencher to Federico. He picked up a breast and shared it with Bianca. Emilia looked away in disgust. I watched Giovanni, Emilia, and Pia picking at their food. Could I have heard wrong? Perhaps Tommaso was just amusing himself at my expense. I left the hall to look for him. He was not in the hallways or the kitchen. Thunder cracked, the rain beat down even harder. No wonder that cursed Socrates had been able to make a toast! He knew his cup was poisoned. But I could not go to Cristoforo and say, 'You sniveling coward, tell me which dish you poisoned or I will cut your balls off, fry them in oil and make you eat them. And by the way, did you use hemlock or arsenic?'