'You told me not to be afraid,' Miranda accused me.
Vittore laughed. 'We used to cut down long sticks and fence with them as if we were knights. Did Ugo not tell you?'
'Babbo hardly ever mentioned you. Where have you come from?'
'Everywhere.' Vittore sat beside her.
Miranda stared at the twinkling amulets hanging from his neck. 'Have you been to Venezia?' she asked.
'For a year I lived in a palazzo on the Grand Canal, one of the best years of my life.'
'I wish I could go,' Miranda sighed, hugging her knees to her chin. 'Somebody once wanted to take me there.'
'I have been to France and Germany. And England too!'
'Is it true the English have tails? Babbo said so.'
'I did not!'
'Yes, you did!'
Vittore roared with laughter, and turning to me, said, 'She is delightful. No, Miranda, they do not have tails. At least not the women I met. And I looked very carefully.'
Miranda blushed.
'I have even been to the Indies.'
'The Indies?' Miranda gasped.
'Yes, where men eat other men.'
Miranda's eyes opened so wide I feared her pupils would pop out. 'You saw them eat men?'
Vittore nodded. 'They also smoke fire through their noses and walk naked all day long.' He reached into a pouch and took out a tube with a small bowl at one end and which split into two small tubes at the other. From another pouch he withdrew some brown flakes which he placed into the bowl and then he put the two thin tubes into his nostrils. Using a taper, he lit the flakes and sucked in through his nose. Miranda and I watched as a second later, a long stream of smoke came out of his mouth. Miranda gasped in horror. 'Is your stomach on fire?' Vittore shook his head. 'What is it then?' I asked.
'They call it tabac. It cures whatever ails man. The stomach, the head, melancholy. Every illness known to man. In the Indies men and women smoke it all day long.'
He puffed several more times until the bowl was empty and then put it away. 'I have seen so many wondrous things. Countries where the sun shines every day and it rains only long enough to water the flowers. And flowers! Oh, Miranda! Flowers larger than a man's hands and all the colors of the rainbow!' He pointed a long arm toward the ceiling. 'Trees that reach to the very top of the heavens and bear more fruit than in all of Eden.' He sighed. 'And yet wherever I am, I always come back to Corsoli.'
'Why?' Miranda asked. 'It is so boring here.'
'Corsoli is my home. I want to die here.' He crossed himself.
'Are you going to die?'
'We are all going to die someday.'
'How true,' I said. 'Vittore, tell us what happened after you became a bandit.'
'You were a bandit?' Miranda gasped.
Vittore shrugged. 'Only to eat. Then they started paying me to rob people.'
'Who did?' Miranda frowned.
'The duke of Ferrara, the Swiss, the emperor, the French. I became a soldier and I fought for whoever paid me.' He leaned forward, his raspy voice dropping to a whisper. ‘I have seen horrors such as no man should ever witness.' He shook his head as if a nightmare had suddenly risen in front of him. 'After I stopped fighting I wanted to become a priest and devote myself to God.'
'What stopped you?' I asked.
'I have a greater gift.'
'Selling love potions?'
'Babbo, what is wrong with bringing love to people?'
'Exactly,' said Vittore, gently patting her knee. 'What higher calling can there be than spreading love?'
'Is that how you got the pox?'
'Babbo, why are you so mean?'
Vittore put his fingers to his lips. 'Do not be angry with your father. He is trying to shield you from the bitterness of life. I only wish someone had done it for me.' He turned to me. 'I got it from a woman. I forgave her.'
Slowly he moved his hair covering the one side of his face. Miranda cried out. Vittore's eye socket had fallen and twisted so that his eye peeked out between mounds of rotting flesh. The cheek was puckered and marked by deep lesions and his jaw had crumpled as if some spirit was eating his face from the inside. 'I do not have long to live. I only ask to spend the rest of my days with those I love and those who love me.'
'I think I am going to cry,' I said.
'Two of my fingers are useless,' Miranda said, holding out her right hand to Vittore, 'and two of my toes.'
With great solemnity Vittore took her hand in his, murmured a prayer and gently kissed the limp, withered fingers. Then he knelt on the floor and kissed her toes. Miranda watched him as if he was the pope himself. Still kneeling, he lifted a silver amulet from around his neck and placed it over Miranda's head so that it fell between her breasts. It was shaped as a hand in which the thumb and first two fingers were open and upright and the last two fingers were closed.
'For me?' Miranda exclaimed. 'What is it?'
'The hand of Fatima. To ward off the evil eye.'
'It does not appear to have done you any good,' I said.
'It is so beautiful,' Miranda breathed.
'Now it will protect both of us.'
'I shall always wear it,' she said.
I might as well have not been in the room!
'Is that rue?' Miranda pointed to a silver wildflower also hanging from Vittore's neck.
'Yes, rue and vervain, the flowers of Diana.'
'And this one?'
Vittore caressed the silver, winged fallo softly between his fingers. 'My love charm,' he said.
What is it that makes evil so attractive? The uglier it is, the greater the mystery, the more attractive it becomes. I know people who would not dream of entering a lion's den and yet they think nothing of talking to the devil. Do they think they can overcome evil? That it will not touch them? Do they not see it is their very goodness that evil feeds on?
So it was with Miranda. 'How can you be so cold to your brother?' she asked, after Vittore had left. 'Can you not see the suffering he has endured?'
Christ on a cross! I thought I would pull my hair out! I told her of the times Vittore had beaten me when we were young. Of the lies he had told to get me in trouble with our father. How he refused to give me a few sheep to start my flock after I had looked after them in winter and in summer day and night, night and day, while he had been drinking and whoring. I told her how he had killed my best friend.
She nodded as if she understood, but then said, 'Are we always to be judged on what we did yesterday? Did Christ not forgive those who had sinned?'
'A wolf is always a wolf, Miranda.'
'But you are his brother and he is yours. I never had a brother or a sister. Or a mother.'
She seemed to have forgotten everything I had just told her! I opened her hands, wanting to know if he had slipped her a potion. I pulled the necklace off her neck to make sure he had not rubbed something on it. How could he have turned her against me in a few short minutes? I became so enraged I said, 'If I ever see you speaking to Vittore again I will beat you!'
Whenever the courtiers emerged from Federico's chamber they usually could not wait to speak ill of each other, but after Vittore's audience with Federico they were united in their fury.
'He said,' Bernardo spluttered, 'according to the stars Federico will have a new wife. He drew a circle on the ground, blabbed something in Latin, consulted a chicken leg, stared into Federico's eyes, and said, 'in two months and no longer than three!'
'He gave him potions, too,' Piero twitched. For once he was not laughing.
'Surely Federico did not believe him?' I asked.
'Not believe him? He has appointed him the court magician,' Bernardo spat. 'He will sit next to him at the table.'
'When Federico does not get what he wants,' I told Vittore, 'he kills people.'
'That will be my problem,' he answered.
'Not just you. He will kill others—'
'Then pretend you do not know me. We are not brothers. We are not related at all.'
From the day Vittore arrived the valley was covered with black clouds. The rain lashed the palace walls; the winds howled through the courtyard, shaking stones loose and uprooting trees older than time itself. In Corsoli, the peasants said that at night demons flew from the palace into the clouds and back again. An evil fungus spread through the hallways. I awoke with the smell of rot buried in my nose and I could not rid myself of it no matter how many perfumes I put on. I knew it was all because of Vittore.
At first, women were afraid of him, but I saw him take them softly by the wrist and pull them behind a pillar. When they emerged a moment later they were smiling and calm. It was not what he said because whenever I asked them to repeat it they could not. 'It is the way he speaks,' a woman shrugged, 'his voice is like cream.'
'He holds me with his eye,' the old washerwoman sighed.
Holy Mother of God! To me his voice was like the bray of an ass mixed with the hiss of a serpent's tongue. Could they not see the evil riding on the back of his words? No, they shrugged, they could not. Or would not! Stupid, ignorant cows! It made no difference whether they were young or old, unmarried or married. Nor was it just the women, but the men, too! Only for them his voice lost its creamy softness and rang with the sounds of battle against the French or Germans. He told of sailing to the Indies and seeing nothing but sea for months on end. He spoke of whales as tall as ships and twice as long. Of a wave that rose out of the ocean and roared over the ship, swallowing all the men and disappearing again in less time than it took to tell it. He told of native women who went without clothes and were happy to do nothing but sport with sailors. He spoke of kings richer than the pope but who lived like peasants. Of brown men to whom gold was as common as grass. The servants listened to his tales and begged for more.
'They are in need of love,' Vittore said.
I do not know what Vittore told Federico — he was careful not to speak when I was close by — but it must have been what Federico wanted to hear. Sometimes Vittore whispered something to make Federico laugh aloud. Then everyone else sat in silence, their eyes on the table for fear they were the objects of Vittore 's ridicule.
Vittore advised Federico to eat ginger with every meal. My poor tongue hung out like a thirsty dog and I could taste nothing else. I wondered if Vittore was doing this so I would not be able to detect poisons. I woke up in the dead of night convinced he was working for Pia's relations in Venezia or perhaps Duke Sforza in Milano or some other prince Federico had injured. But I had not protected Federico with my life to have that sheep fucker kill him!
I asked Tommaso if Vittore ever came to the kitchen. "Why should he?' he said, annoyed that I had disturbed his sleep. I shook him angrily. 'Does he give you anything to put in Federico's food?'
'No,' he said indignantly. 'He is helping Duke Federico.'
That was all I needed to hear. Ever since Vittore had given Tommaso the dove, Tommaso worshiped Vittore because he hoped Vittore could help him win Miranda back.
'He will not,' I said.
'Have you spoken to her?'
'The time has not been right.'
He snorted and I must admit that even to my own ears my words were not convincing.
That evening, as Miranda was playing her lyre, I asked her if she ever thought of Tommaso. 'No,' she answered lightly, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
Within a few weeks, Vittore became as important to Federico as his cane, which he always used now because of his gout. I heard Vittore urging against the plans Federico had made on his way back from Milano.
'I think it would be more fitting for you to have another palace,' Vittore said.
'Another palace,' Federico mused as he chewed on a capon leg smothered in ginger.
'With your permission, Your Excellency,' I said, 'this excess of ginger is not good for your humors.'
'Oh, Ugo,' Federico said, 'What do you know? What have you seen of the world? How many times have you been out of the valley? Once? And going to Milano does not count.'
I stepped back as if I had been struck by lightning. Federico nudged Vittore and laughed, not seeing the rage welling in me. But Vittore did, and from the look in his eye, I realized he was afraid I would tell Federico we were brothers. The world had turned upside down! A few weeks ago, I was the one who did not want anyone to know, but now it was Vittore who felt I was a burden to him! I knew then he would not feel safe until he had killed me.
The morning after the full moon, the old washerwoman was found wandering naked in the yard muttering about Diana. No one knew which Diana she was talking about, and although there were several among the servants, they all denied it was them. Piero bled her and gave her some ointments but she would not say what had happened and kept falling to her knees, begging everyone's forgiveness. It was only one of many things which disturbed me. Miranda often fell asleep during her lessons. She was lax in her duties to Isabella, a courtier's wife. When I tried to speak to her she answered in a dull voice that she was doing as she always did. Tommaso refused to look me in the eye. Cecchi sulked about the palace. Bernardo did not leave his bed, claiming he was ill, and Piero was so afraid that he jumped at his own shadow. The palace was falling down around me, and it was all Vittore's doing.
Two boys stopped me at the stable entrance demanding to know what business I wanted. I was about to crack their heads when Vittore called out, 'Let him in.'
The horses looked at me with drowsy eyes as I walked past them.
Vittore had made a home for himself at the back of the stable among the straw. Strange objects hung from the rafters — a jawbone of an ass, a lock of hair, a broken piece of a sculpture. The stony, gray palazzo was cold and drafty, but here the warm smell of horses and hay mingled in a pleasant manner and the odor of a sickly perfume made me want to lie down and sleep.
Vittore was sitting on a pile of straw. His hair was still matted, amulets and charms still hung from his neck, but his black robe was new as well as his boots and cape. It had taken me months to get new clothes and years before I had a new robe and boots. 'You have done well for yourself,' I said.
He leaned back, sucked on his tabacca and blew the smoke toward me. 'God has been kind.'
I was annoyed at the way I had to stand in front of him as if I was in his court. "What have you been giving Miranda?'
'Ah, Miranda, mia angelica,' he smiled.
"What have you been giving her?'
'What I give everyone, Ugo.' He paused to suck his tabacca. 'Love.'
'Do not give her anything. I forbid it.'
'Are you threatening me?'
'Yes, I am threatening you.'
'It is too late for that.'
'It is not too late,' I said. I heard a noise and glanced around. The stable boys were approaching me, knives in hand.
'But it is, Ugo,' Vittore said. His voice had changed. He sprang to his feet and pulled his dagger. 'It is much too late.'
The boys looked at one another, unsure of what to do. 'He is the taster,' one said stupidly.
I yelled loudly, and fortunately someone in the courtyard shouted back. As the boys turned I knocked them down and ran out of the stable, not stopping till I reached my room. With a pounding heart I sat by the window. From now on I had to be more careful; the next time I might not be so lucky.
It rained for seven days and seven nights. Clouds filled the sky until the day was as dark as night. A blanket of moss climbed the palace walls and a thin gray mist slipped through the corridors. Puddles formed in the dining hall, in the kitchen, and in my room. Fevers struck. Cecchi took to his bed, Bernardo moaned all day, and Federico had bad attacks of phlegm. I, too, caught a cold and could not shake it. Only Vittore did not fall ill. He had less than a month to fulfill his promise to Federico, but he did not seem concerned. Every night I prayed he would fail and that Federico would drive him out of the valley or throw him down the mountain.
Miranda ate little and stared at the rain
for hours. She was no longer interested in boys and did not comb her hair or paint her face. Once, after I had taken a pinch of meadow saffron — I was taking small amounts of herbs every day — I tried to follow her, but I grew confused and she slipped away from me. I asked Bernardo if the stars were affecting her.
'When was she born?'
'Three days after Corpus Christi.' I remembered because Elisabetta had picked wild roses to throw in the procession, but the petals had caught in her hair and she had looked so pretty I had begged her to leave them there.
Bernardo grunted. 'The crab. Behavior like that is to be expected. She will probably live to be at least seventy years old. Then again she might not.'
Piero said it was probably her monthly courses and that he would know better when the moon was full in three days' time. He said he would be happy to bleed her.
'I will die before that pig touches me!' Miranda shouted.
'He saved you when you almost died from the cold,' I reminded her.
Whatever I said caused her to be angry, even little things. When I remarked I had seen her talking to Tommaso, she cried, 'You are spying on me!' Her voice trailed off and she averted her eyes from the window. Below us in Emilia's garden, Vittore was talking to the old washerwoman.
'Has this got anything to do with Vittore?' I asked her.
'No.'
'Yes, it has.'
'It has not!' she screamed. 'No! NO! NO! NO!'
Just then Vittore looked up at me and smiled.
The night of the next full moon, I slipped away from the table while Septivus was reading Dante's Purgatory, and into the stable. The stable boys were still eating in the servants' hall. At the back, where Vittore had made a space for himself, I climbed to the top of a pile of straw near the roof and waited. Amulets and charms hung everywhere, and that strange scent which had made me drowsy was there again.
I must have fallen asleep for I was awoken by muttered voices. It was dark except for the dim light of a candle. Several people sat on the ground with their backs to me sipping from a bowl which they passed to one another. Vittore sat facing them, stroking something in his lap. He spoke to it in a low voice and rubbed its back as one might pet a kitten. Then he held it up for all to see. It was not a kitten, but a toad! He was an incantatore. A witch! And this was a witch's sabbat. I wanted to tell Federico right away, but I stayed, for I had never seen a sabbat before.
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