The Midwife of Venice

by Roberta Rich

  “Look at her. Now do you believe me?” said Jessica. “As you can see, she is not long for this world. She deserves quiet and peace.”

  The Magistrate ignored Jessica and approached the bed, stopping several paces away. Hannah then saw Jacopo at the threshold with a handkerchief pressed to his nose and mouth. With a long cane, the Magistrate thrust aside the bed curtains, took up the candlestick on the night table, and held it aloft. Raising a corner of her coverlet with his cane, he peered at her legs and belly, and then at the child who lay motionless next to her.

  It was impossible to say what age the Magistrate was. His shoulders were stooped. He was old, perhaps forty or forty-five years. Hannah’s skin prickled in the cold draft from the window and she shivered. This man would not waste time and public money on trials. Executions of the Prosecuti were secret, hurried affairs that happened in the dark of night. The Magistrate could order her killed immediately if he wished.

  “I have come to investigate the murder of Niccolò di Padovani and the charges of witchcraft against you, Hannah Levi,” he said. “I am Magistrate Marco Zoccoli.” The Magistrate stared at her with sightless eyes, the enormous beak of his mask poised as if to strike. Then he turned to Jessica. “And,” he added, “I am also here to consider charges against you.”

  Dear God, not Jessica, too, Hannah thought.

  “For what offence?” Jessica asked.

  “As an accomplice.”

  “Accomplice? No one here has committed a crime.”

  “Accomplice,” the Magistrate said, “for offering Hannah Levi shelter.”

  From the doorway, Jacopo said, “And for kidnapping my nephew and murdering my brother Niccolò.” A handkerchief still held to his face, he was wearing a jacket the colour of crushed cherries. “It would be my pleasure to watch you both dangle from the strappado.”

  He stared closely at Hannah for a moment and noted the child at her side. Then he tucked his handkerchief away and clapped his hands. “A virtuoso performance, ladies.” Giving a mock salute to Hannah, he said, “The cross on the door was a brilliant touch. But we are not fools.”

  Jessica said, “This is no hoax, sir.”

  “I have my jacinth ring to protect me against the pestilence, if you are telling the truth.” Jacopo held up his hand to show a heavy gold ring set with a reddish-orange stone on his thumb. “And”—he drew a matchlock pistol from his breeches and pointed it in her direction—“I have this efficient instrument at my disposal should you be lying. I have practised shooting melons off the parapet of ca’ di Padovani and I can assure you it is accurate.”

  “Put that away,” the Magistrate ordered. “It falls to me to decide who is guilty and to mete out punishment.”

  Jacopo shrugged and tucked the pistol into the waistband of his breeches. He waved a hand back and forth in front of his face. “God in heaven, pull the drapes and fling open the windows. The stench is unbearable.”

  “The light hurts her poor eyes,” said Jessica.

  “Well, the stink of it hurts mine. This woman is not only the murderer of my brother and the kidnapper of my nephew, but also a witch.”

  The Magistrate still stood a few paces back from the bed. As the moments passed, Hannah felt the carefully applied buboes on her armpits and neck begin to melt in the heat of the room. Her sweat was beginning to seep through the bed linen and make her itch.

  “She looks like a plague victim—a white, almost greenish complexion, blackened eyes and teeth,” said the Magistrate.

  “Rubbish,” Jacopo said. “It is nothing more than the crude paint of a bad actress.”

  At that instant, Hannah moaned and bit down on the partridge egg tucked in her cheek. Blood trickled out of her mouth and down her chin, staining her pillow.

  Magistrate Zoccoli recoiled. “Good Lord, if this is an act, she should be on stage at the Teatro Orsini.” He looked at Matteo sleeping in Hannah’s arms. “Is the child similarly stricken?”

  Jessica nodded.

  The Magistrate glanced in Jacopo’s direction. “Sir, you claim this baby is your brother’s child? I will ask you to identify him.” He nodded to Jessica. “Hold up the child so we can see it.”

  Jessica went to the bed, slid Matteo from Hannah’s arms, and held him up. Matteo had a whitish pallor and his limbs twitched. Although free of the plague, he was in truth suffering without the rich, copious milk of Giovanna. The sores and scabs that Jessica had painted on him looked gruesomely real.

  “Can you say that this child is, without a doubt, your nephew?”

  Jacopo replied, “He is my own flesh and blood.”

  The Magistrate said, “This infant is so covered in buboes, I cannot tell if it is human or animal. How can you be so certain he is your nephew?”

  “By his reddish hair. He takes after his mother, the Contessa,” said Jacopo.

  “The child is my sister’s,” Jessica blurted out, “born weeks ago after a long and difficult travail.”

  Jessica sounded so convincing that for a moment Hannah’s heart leapt. Would the Magistrate believe this?

  “You know full well that is a lie,” Jacopo said.

  Jessica adjusted the bodice of her dress, tugging it a finger’s width lower. “Hannah has been staying with me since she was stricken. She had no one else to look after her and her child. Her husband is in Malta.”

  “You know it is against the law for a Jew to live outside the ghetto,” said the Magistrate.

  Jessica tucked Matteo under the covers. “You are right, sir. She should have obtained official permission, but we are in a desperate situation, as you can see. She will be dead soon enough. As will the infant.” Jessica squeezed Hannah’s fingers and a smear of cream mixed with goat excrement came off in her palm. Quickly, she rubbed her hand over the silk coverlet. “I beg you, sir, let them die in peace.”

  “They are liars, the pair of them!” Jacopo said.

  “If this Jewess is indeed the child’s mother, it will be easy enough to tell.” The Magistrate fingered the medallion around his neck. “Remove his swaddling bands. If he is circumcised, then I will accept that the child is hers. That will be the end of the matter.”

  Jessica bent over the child and began slowly to unwind the swaddling bands, which fell away in yellow-and-black mottled strips.

  Hannah wanted to throw herself across the child’s body. Soon they would see Matteo’s hooded penis. What if she rose from the bed and charged them with the knife? But there were two of them. They would seize the knife from her and kill her in less time than it takes a pack of wolves to hamstring a doe. As Jessica reached down to lift the child, Hannah quickly untied the cord around her neck and pressed the shadai onto Matteo. When Jessica held him up for inspection, the amulet in the shape of a baby’s hand gleamed against the rise and fall of his small chest.

  “What is that?” asked the Magistrate.

  “The Jews call this a shadai,” said Jessica. “It is an amulet to hang over the cradle to protect a newborn, for all the good it has done him.” She lifted the amulet and dangled it between her fingers. “Such a custom is widespread among Jews.”

  The Magistrate bent forward to study the Hebrew letters on the shadai, but the appalling stench of feces repelled him and discouraged closer inspection.

  The Magistrate recoiled and said, “No one would hang such an abomination around the neck of a Christian child.” He shook his head. “I see no need to proceed further. Unwrapping him any further will only unleash the vapours of the pestilence.”

  “Nonsense,” Jacopo said. “She is a midwife, not a mother. My brother and I brought her from the ghetto to deliver the child. That amulet is the Jewess’s charm—proof that she is a practitioner of the dark arts. She no more gave birth to the baby than I did.”

  Hannah watched through half-closed eyes as Jacopo turned pale, realizing what he had just said.

  The Magistrate’s next words left Jacopo in no doubt of his error. “You fetched her from the ghetto to assist at your
sister-in-law’s birth? You know such an attendance is against the law.” In a voice made strangely hollow by the mask, he continued, “When you seek justice from me, sir, you must come with clean hands. Perhaps I should charge you and the Conte with breaking the law that prohibits Jews from giving medical assistance to Christians.”

  The Magistrate turned to Jessica. “You are the child’s aunt. If that is so, you must be a Jew as well. And yet it seems from that ham in your window downstairs and the rosary you are clasping so fervently to your bosom that you are not.”

  “The Lord led me to the Church of Rome years ago. I am a New Christian,” Jessica said.

  Jacopo moved toward the bed. “Magistrate, Jews bring the plague on us by poisoning the wells, and then, when the city is in an uproar, bold as rats, they snatch Christian babies from their cradles!” He pointed to Jessica. “She is as much a Jew as her sister. Do not be deceived by her cheap props.”

  “Justice is for me to dispense, not you.” The Magistrate turned to Jessica. “Now, what do you say to this allegation of Niccolò di Padovani’s murder? Were you or your sister involved?”

  Jessica was quiet for a moment and then replied, “Niccolò was set upon by ruffians and killed for his purse when he was reeling home drunk from a party at the ca’ Venier.”

  “How do you come by this information?”

  “Magistrate, in my profession, we are all privy to information about certain nobles in Venice. And the streets have more ears than cobblestones. I am told that Niccolò was so drunk he could not perform. He lurched out into the street. When his friends followed him out to accompany him home, he was nowhere to be found. Everyone knows that thieves and ruffians have free rein of the city at night. My sister had nothing to do with his death.”

  “She is a whore and a liar!” said Jacopo. “My brother was found floating face up in the Rio della Misericordia. Dead of stab wounds inflicted by this Jewess.” He pointed at Hannah.

  Jessica turned to face him. “There are rumours that you and Niccolò are heavily indebted to the moneylenders. Too much time spent at the casinos. How convenient for you if the Jewish moneylenders were all killed.” She paused. “You use the Prosecuti to do your dirty work for you.”

  The Magistrate looked at Jacopo. “Just what is it you are up to? Do you dare to exploit my office?”

  “Why would you take the word of a whore over the word of a nobleman?”

  “Answer the question. So far this woman’s worst crime has been tending to her sick sister and the baby. You, on the other hand, have admitted to breaking the law.”

  Jacopo was quiet now and appeared uncertain how to proceed.

  “You are treading in dangerous waters, my friend.” Magistrate Zoccoli spoke slowly, as though a scrivener were taking down his words. “For all I know, it was you, di Padovani, who threw your brother into the canal over some brotherly rivalry. I will settle the matter thus: This woman is too sick now to answer for herself. If she lives, so be it. She will answer to me. Obviously, I cannot take her into custody without spreading the pestilence. My soldiers shall remain outside, guarding the house to make sure neither the sister nor the baby leave. I will return in five days’ time. They will either all be dead, in which case that is the end of the matter, or Hannah Levi will be well enough to answer charges and have her evidence tested by the strappado.”

  Hannah knew that with her arms behind her back, wrists bound together, raised by the strap until her arms popped out of their sockets, she would confess to anything.

  “Can you not see through this charade?” Jacopo said.

  “My soldiers will be on watch twenty-four hours a day,” said the Magistrate. “Nothing will be lost by delaying justice for five days.”

  “But what if these women manage to slip past your men and leave the city? This one”—he jerked a thumb in Hannah’s direction—“plans to sail to Malta.”

  “Venice faces a bigger problem right now than this Jewess. The Doge has decreed that in two days, the city will be in quarantine. No ships will set sail for Malta or anywhere else.” The Magistrate rose to his feet. “We will take our leave.” He walked to the door, Jacopo trailing behind.

  Jessica took a last secret glance at Hannah, a look of relief on her face, and followed them out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the front entrance. Hannah lay rigid, waiting until Jessica ushered the men out.

  When she returned to the room, Jessica held her hand out for Hannah to see. “Look at me shaking. I need a glass of wine.” She glanced at Hannah. “And so do you.”

  “You were magnificent,” Hannah said. “Nothing they said seemed to confound you in the slightest. I never imagined you would be able to do it. My little sister has more courage than I could ever have predicted.”

  Jessica walked to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and peered out. “The Magistrate is stepping into his gondola.”

  “And the soldiers?” asked Hannah.

  Leaning farther out the window, Jessica said, “Yes, there are two of them, on either side of my door, wearing the crest of the Prosecuti.” She let the curtain drop and leaned against the wall. “My God, I am weak as a kitten. I will fetch us that wine. We need it.”

  After Jessica had left, Hannah turned to the child. Matteo had sweated in the shawl. The paste and unguents on his face had smeared, giving him the appearance of a wax effigy held too close to a candle. She gave him a gentle kiss on the top of his head and his blue eyes fixed on her face.

  Jessica returned with a tray of two glasses and a bowl of almonds and set them on the table next to the bed. Hannah poured from the carafe and handed her sister a half-filled cup. Rising from the bed, she went to the washbasin behind Jessica’s dressing screen and began to scrub the concoction off her face and hands. Matteo was sleeping peacefully. She would wash him later.

  Jessica said, “God has given us a reprieve.” She fell into a chair, her legs sprawled out in front of her. She took a sip from her glass. “But what next? What are we to do now?”

  “We will think of something,” Hannah said as she dried her hands on a towel and took a seat on the side of the bed. She was exhausted and could not think. “We are prisoners in your house just as surely as Isaac is a prisoner in Malta.” She fished a piece of meat from the almond shell with a pick, then glanced at Jessica. “What is it? You have an idea. I can tell by your face.”

  Jessica took a gulp of wine and grinned. “They are not such an ugly sight.”

  “Who?” Hannah asked. “The Prosecuti‘s soldiers?” She went to the window and gazed down at the soldiers, who were cramming lumps of bread and cheese into their mouths and passing back and forth a goatskin of wine.

  Hannah felt the colour rise in her face.

  “Look at them stuff their faces, the savages.”

  Jessica came behind her and looked out the window. “Show me how a man behaves at table and I will tell you how he behaves in bed. These two will be quick about it.” Giving Hannah a poke in the ribs, she said, “It is not that difficult. Just close your eyes and pretend you are rolling out dough for hamantashen cookies for Purim. When they are spent and lying open-mouthed and snoring on the divan, we shall flee.”

  “I could never,” Hannah whispered, afraid the two soldiers would hear and glance up.

  “What does it matter now? Besides, you must do something to escape or this child will not be returned to his mother and the Balbiana will sail without you.”

  Jessica popped an almond into her mouth just as Matteo began to stir. “Look, our gorgeous boy is waking up.”

  “I love him more each day,” said Hannah. “I will find it painful to surrender him to his parents.”

  The child began to wail.

  “Go and fetch the goat’s milk. I will feed him.” Hannah rubbed the last bits of caked gesso off her face.

  Jessica kicked off her shoes, high wooden-soled ones, fashioned to give her a graceful appearance but not for moving quickly. She walked to the doorway and turned. “Think about
what I said. A rhythmic, stroking motion and then, before you know it …”

  Hannah heard Jessica’s giggles as her sister flew down the stairs in her stocking feet.

  Hannah reclined against the cushions of the bed, holding Matteo in front of her as his legs pumped the air. In the three days Matteo had been with her, Hannah had often caught herself daydreaming about what it would be like if he were her own child. She had tried to stop herself from imagining what Matteo would look like when he was older: whether his eyes would remain slate blue or turn dark, whether his hair would remain red, and even whether he would be an able student.

  So much time elapsed that Hannah wondered what had detained Jessica. When she heard the blast from downstairs, it sounded like the explosions that sometimes occurred during the fires at the shipyards in the Arsenale. She put Matteo down on the bed and raced downstairs to the ground floor. As she ran past the front door she saw the two soldiers, their blue caps askew, charging down the Fondamenta in pursuit of someone. Hannah flung open the door to the larder.

  Jessica lay on the floor, her face pressed against the cupboard door. Blood poured from a hole in her chest, staining the bodice of her velvet dress.

  CHAPTER 19

  ISAAC TRUDGED DOWN the road that ran along the shore, eying the Provveditore bobbing at its lines. He ignored the ache in his legs and the blisters on his feet. It was no use, he thought, putting one weary foot in front of the other. He was no closer to freedom and returning to Hannah in Venice than he had been when he arrived in Malta earlier. Hector had made it clear that the Society could not help him. His letter-writing efforts on Joseph’s behalf had failed miserably. In lusting after Gertrudis, Joseph was the god Icarus, flying with waxen wings too close to the sun, except it was Isaac who would crash to earth.