He cautiously approached. It looked uninhabited. Several times, he tried to call out. Nobody answered.
He was thirsty, his back was aching, and his mind seemed sucked into a vortex of chaotic drunkenness. His nerves were frayed for no reason. He sat under an oak tree to regain strength. His eyelids felt heavy and his limbs felt strangely numb.
He was about to give in to sleep when he heard a rustle coming from the reeds, followed by a kind of dirge or lament. Behind the building, he saw an indefinable figure, half woman and half forest demon, with a thick bush of tousled curly hair, like an eagle’s nest, and soft, bare, rosy arms. She wore a short dress, low cut, that didn’t conceal her soft, large bosom, and a large, perfectly round behind that seemed to immortalize every prophetic vision of a garden of delights.
Around her neck, almost breaking any illusion of a celestial vision, hung two shreds of shiny, bleeding meat, which Edgardo couldn’t identify at first. When the creature drew closer, he was able to solve both riddles at once: the face belonged to Magister Abella, unrecognizable without her physician’s headdress and outfit, and the shreds of meat were two skinned rabbits, on show like an ermine stole.
Abella stopped, surprised to see the scribe who looked like a hermit prey to the temptations of Saint Anthony the Abbot in the Thebaid desert.
She welcomed him in her usual, hospitable tone. “You look dreadful!”
“Madonna Magdalena Grimani has charged me with delivering you a bottle,” Edgardo said, coming straight to the point and taking the precious relic out of his bag.
“I didn’t think you’d come all the way here just for the pleasure of meeting me.” Abella took the bottle. “Can I restore you to life with a glass of wine and some rye bread? Or would you like to go back immediately and face certain death?”
The Magister flung open her door and went in without waiting for an answer. Although he didn’t want to give in to her, Edgardo felt too weak, so he followed her inside.
The only room, bare and without adornments, contained what was necessary for survival: a fire, a table, and a bed.
With a graceful gesture, Abella took off the rabbit necklace and hung it on a hook, then took a jug and some bread and slammed them on the table.
Despite her confident, masculine gestures, the pink folds in her flesh, her full lips, and all her bulges oozed a femininity Edgardo couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by. Her body smelled of warm milk, freshly drawn, frothy, sweet, with a slight aftertaste of aromatic herbs from the Alps.
“I must return to Venice right away, but thank you for your hospitality.” Edgardo sat at the table.
“The obligation to treat the dying is part of the physician’s oath.”
Edgardo smiled. His tormented, emaciated appearance had become his daily outfit since he’d lost Kallis. “I knew better times when I was a cleric,” he said in self-justification.
“I’m sure you did.” Abella poured two glasses of wine. “The nuns make it. It’s excellent,” she said, drinking hers in a single gulp. She looked more like a hunter than a physician. “What happened to make you abandon the habit?”
Such a direct question made him suspicious. “Painful events which I do not wish to recall.”
“And don’t you have any more friends among the monks?”
Why was she so curious? Edgardo finished his wine and stood up, swaying. “I really must go.”
“Why such a rush to go back to Ca’ Grimani? Does your master keep you on a leash?”
“My only master is my conscience. I promised I’d find Costanza. I feel responsible for her disappearance.”
“You harbor the illusion that after so many days she’s still alive?” Abella wet her lips to collect the last traces of wine.
“I hope so. Alvise is in serious danger.”
“You really believe that boy is innocent?” Abella’s tone was almost scornful.
He wanted to answer yes, but a sudden weakness wound around his tongue, wrapped around his throat, and went down to his legs. He felt his head come apart from his body, and his ass sink into the void. A blanket of pitch blurred his vision.
When he came to, the first thing he knew was the pungent scent of mandrake and henbane, herbs the apothecary often mixed with opium in order to make the concoction even more powerful.
He tried to open his eyes, which felt coated in birdlime. After several attempts, he finally succeeded. He then realized that he was horizontal, lying on a slab of cold, shiny stone. Above him, the sky was torn by a ray of blinding light that illuminated the thousand-colored feathers of a huge peacock as it flew out of a stormy sea. The bright plumage and cheerful look of the bird that stared at him from above for a few seconds made him think he’d abandoned the world of the living and ended up in paradise.
“You’re awake, finally.”
That voice called him back to reality.
He was no longer in the room where Abella had received him. It was a totally different place. There was a high ceiling with a circular opening at the top, from whence came a beam of light. The surrounding walls were slightly curved, made of light-colored stone, with narrow slits, most of which were decorated with brightly colored drawings. They represented scenes of hunting in the lagoon: a boat carrying men armed with bows they were pointing at birds with colorful plumage. A boar was peering out of the bushes.
Only then did he realize that the appearance of that miraculous peacock was a painting in the vault, and the discovery made him feel devastated.
“Take a deep breath.” Edgardo recognized Abella’s voice and saw her hand bring a soaked sponge to his nose.
“What happened?” he stammered.
“Your humors lost their balance and you passed out. The phlegm has given way to black bile. Go on, take a deep breath.”
Edgardo obeyed, and the healing vapors invaded his brain.
“You use opium, don’t you?”
Edgardo said nothing.
“When the body is impregnated with a stimulant substance, it can no longer go on without it except by triggering a serious imbalance. I didn’t have any opium but I’ve compensated with other similar herbs.”
Edgardo tried to get up.
Abella stopped him. “Lie there for a while longer.”
Only then did he realize that he was naked from the waist up. His left arm, dangling at his side, had a cut that was still dripping with blood.
“I bled you: you have the frothy, purple blood typical of drug users.” Abella gave him a strict look, then leaned over him. “And you’ve been carrying around this pretty excrescence since birth, have you?” she said, examining the bump on his chest with a professorial air.
“Yes, but it’s gotten worse in the past few years, and turned purulent. Our Lord decided to brand me for reasons He hasn’t yet given me the grace to reveal.”
“May I?” Magister Abella examined it. It was shaped like an enormous tick, stuck to the chest right over the sternum. It was covered on the outside with a callous mass, with dark hair here and there, streaked with deep, narrow cracks that gave off a nauseating smell. It was purple, with gray tones, and flabby to the touch. Abella tried prodding it on the side: the fleshy inflorescence bobbed about, letting out a thick, yellow humor like congealed mucus.
“Interesting. I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said. “It doesn’t seem rooted to the bone. It’s independent and has a life of its own that doesn’t interfere with other internal organs. Does it hurt if I press?”
“No, it’s as though it belonged to someone else.”
“Just as I thought.” Abella’s face was leaning so close to him that Edgardo could smell the milky fragrance of her skin. For a moment, he was carried away by the memory of sensations he thought he’d lost.
“I don’t want to mislead you, but I think I can safely assure you that, if you so wished, this foul leech that
sucks your lymph and your energy could be removed.”
Edgardo looked at her in disbelief.
“The School of Salerno was the first to recognize and practice the art of surgery, taking it away from charlatans and barbers who operate without any knowledge, often causing patients irrevocable damage.”
“So you think this gift from God could be removed?” Edgardo stroked his bump like the head of a loyal dog.
“We possess the knowledge and experience, even though I confess I’ve never performed this kind of operation before. A tumor of this size,” she felt the protuberance, “is something new for me too.”
Edgardo bent to the side and slid to the floor.
He saw strange tools hanging on the walls: scales, straps, scalpels, pointers, tweezers, scissors, saws, needles, syringes, and, on the shelves, earthenware vases with various writings on them.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, far from comforted by what he saw. “You live in an odd place.”
Abella looked around with a naive expression. “It was once a tomb, perhaps of some Roman tribune. There were quite a few on this island. The fishermen added a room at the front of the building. I turned this space into my studium. They say Santa Maria Assunta was once a military facility, and that Santa Fosca too was a funereal monument.”
“I must go now. There’s a Jewish steward in San Lorenzo who could give me valuable information. I’ve wasted enough time already.” Edgardo took a step but swayed, almost losing his balance.
Abella held him up. “Wait.” He felt her full breasts press against his arm. “You’ll never be able to row as far as San Lorenzo. You’re still very weak.”
“Thank you, but I think I can manage.” Edgardo walked to the exit and collided with the table in the front room.
“Don’t stand up. I’ll come with you,” Abella said and, without waiting for a reply, took him under the arm, almost lifting him bodily.
First the offer of removing his hump, and now she even suggested accompanying him. Edgardo couldn’t account for this sudden change in attitude on Abella’s part. What was her aim? Was she hoping that the operation would rid her of him or was it just pity for a poor cripple?
XII.
JUDEUS
It was like flying over the water. His mind, still numb, was swaying between dream and reality. More than once, instead of Abella, he thought he saw Kallis’s threadlike form at the oar. Rather than nourishment, love had turned into a devastating disease. He had to get rid of her, erase her from his heart.
He was so wrapped up in thought, he didn’t notice that they’d reached San Lorenzo. They left the boat by the steps leading to the palazzo of the merchant from the East.
“What do you intend to do?’ Abella asked, trying to make him see reason.
“I want to question the steward of the owner of this palazzo. He’ll certainly remember the servant boy Tataro sent him with the merchandise. He disappeared on his way to him.”
“And what if that was the case?” Abella said. “May I remind you that it’s Costanza you’re looking for. I can’t see the link between these two events.”
Edgardo stared at her, impatient. “Look, I didn’t ask you to come here with me. I am, however, very grateful to you. Now you can go back to Torcellus. You must have patients waiting.”
“None of my patients is worse off than you are,” Abella replied, getting out of the boat.
They went to the front door. It was shut, as were all the blinds.
Without affording her so much as a look, Edgardo started knocking. They waited in vain.
“There’s nobody here. Let’s go. I’ll take you back to Ca’ Grimani.” Abella took Edgardo by the arm and tried to drag him away.
“He’s out. He’ll be back,” he stated confidently.
Abella snorted. “What makes you think he will?”
“An impression, a feeling . . . ”
“You’re damned stubborn.” Abella was losing her temper. “You’ll never get anywhere this way. You must follow logic in your actions. No doubt you’re familiar with Aristotle’s Topics, with the commentary of the great philosopher Avicenna. Well, you should follow the reasoning of syllogism: there’s a principal premise, a secondary one, and a conclusion. You, on the other hand, are talking nonsense.”
“I’m following my intuition. I imagine you’ve read Plotinus . . . ”
“This isn’t intuition! You’re scrambling in the dark like a blind man!” Abella sounded aggravated.
“You could well be right. Even so, I’ll use these leftovers,” Edgardo pointed at his ailing eyes, “to take a look around.”
“What are you hoping to find?”
“Don’t you understand yet? Giacomo, the servant boy, goes to meet the steward of an Eastern merchant, and vanishes into thin air. And where does this steward live? Just a few steps away from where Costanza disappeared. Moreover, Giacomo’s scaula is found nearby, outside San Lorenzo. Everything revolves around this building, it can’t be a coincidence . . . Don’t you think?”
Abella hadn’t followed much of what he’d said, but still she had to admit that there was a certain series of unexplainable coincidences. “You mean that Costanza’s disappearance, as well as the garzone’s, revolves around the palazzo of this hypothetical Oriental merchant whom no one has ever seen?”
“You said it.”
“But why should a merchant abduct young people?”
“That’s something I haven’t worked out yet. Perhaps to sell them as slaves in some country in the East. It’s a thriving market.”
“Yes, but what could be the connection between Costanza and the servant boy? They’re so different. Besides, why pick a girl from a noble family when there are so many servants’ daughters in the city? It’s much riskier.”
The succession of questions was making Edgardo nervous and insecure. “That’s what we must find out.”
Abella smiled, pleased with herself. “Did you say we?”
“Look.” Edgardo was leaning over the canal. “You see those windows, on the mezzanine floor, that open onto the water? They have no shutters. We can look inside through them. Quick, we can reach them by boat.”
Abella went along, not very convinced.
They came under the openings, which were barred with iron gratings. Because the water level was low, you had to grab hold of them and lift yourself up to them.
Edgardo looked at the Magister’s build, which was much sturdier than his own. “If you support me, I can reach the grating.”
“Do you expect me to lift you in my arms?” Abella said, irritated.
“If you don’t mind. I’m sure you’ve done worse in your capacity as a physician.”
Abella grumbled something about the duties of a scholar, then opened her arms. “I warn you, I’ll have to put my arms around you.”
“I’ll close my eyes.”
The Magister came forward like a wrestler about to crush a bull, but when her arms enfolded Edgardo’s body, he felt as though he was being wrapped in a warm, soft cloak, stuffed with chicken feathers and scented with lavender. She lifted him with apparent effortlessness.
“Is this alright? What can you see?’
Edgardo clung to the gratings. “It’s dark . . . Wait.” He tried to focus, but his shaky vision couldn’t make out shapes. “It all seems empty.”
“No chained young maiden?”
“It looks like there are some kind of chests at the back . . . ”
“Hurry up. I can’t hold you up for much longer.”
“Just a moment . . . one of them is partly open, and there’s something shiny inside. Unfortunately, my eyes . . . ”
“The devil be damned . . . I can’t hold you up anymore,” Abella hissed.
The scribe’s body slipped out of her arms and landed in the boat, making it rock violently.
“So what did you see?’ Abella asked, panting.
Edgardo looked disappointed. “I don’t know. I didn’t have time to see exactly. It was shining. Perhaps it was a blade . . . weapons . . . ”
“Doesn’t sound like an amazing discovery to me.” Abella caught her breath. “Can we go now?”
Digging his fingers into his tousled hair, his cerulean-blue eyes staring into space, Edgardo was desperately trying to give all the elements a meaning.
The boat traveled down the canal until it reached the side entrance of the palazzo.
“Stop,” he suddenly said. And, with a surprising leap, he got out of the boat and onto the steps.
Abella watched him bend down and take a closer look, pinching with his fingers the steps that were shiny with algae, as though searching for molluscs, then suddenly get up and raise his arms to the sky, lit up by a childlike smile.
“Mentis lumen!” he cried out. “I understand everything. Do you know what that chest contains? Glass, drinking cups, bottles.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“After Costanza disappeared, I came to search for clues around the convent. And right in front of this building I find tiny specks of straw like the ones they use in stables, and I couldn’t work out why, since there were no animals inside. These specks of straw are also used to protect glass and crockery during transportation. It’s therefore obvious that the reflection from that chest must be caused by the glass.”
It was the first time she’d heard him put forward a theory that was, if not entirely logical, then at least sensible. Abella nodded. “Perhaps . . . So?”
“Are you never happy, woman?!” Edgardo exclaimed. “It’s proof. Tataro’s servant was supposed to deliver glass, his boat was found nearby, and the glass is inside the building: obviously, the boy had dealings with these people. Whether he is now alive or dead, I couldn’t say, but—” he stopped. “Look! That must be him,” he suddenly said. “It’s Lippomano. You see? He came back.”
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