Part 4 (1/2)
”You yourself in this world are a Jew, named Toby, and you are a lutenist as you will soon discover, and let that be a key to you as to how much of your varied talent will be needed to see this venture through. Now you are known as one who is imperturbable and can bring consolation to the troubled through his music, so you will be welcomed when you arrive.
”Be brave, and be loving, and be open to all those who need you-especially to our frantic and much discouraged Vitale, who is a trusting man by nature, and who so valiantly prays for a.s.sistance. I count upon your cleverness as always, your nerve, and your cunning. But just as much I count upon your generous and educated heart.”
CHAPTER FIVE
AS I I EMERGED ONTO A SMALL PIAZZA BEFORE A HUGE EMERGED ONTO A SMALL PIAZZA BEFORE A HUGE stone palazzo a crowd broke as if it had been waiting for me. stone palazzo a crowd broke as if it had been waiting for me.
It was not the mob I'd encountered in England on my last escapade for Malchiah, but clearly there were goings-on here and I was being plunged into their very midst.
The crowd were Jews, almost all of them, or so it seemed because so many wore a round yellow circle attached to their clothes, and others wore blue ta.s.sels on the ends of their long velvet tunics. These were rich men, men of influence, and their bearing told me this as well as their dress.
As for me, I was dressed in a fine tunic of rolled velvet, with slashed sleeves with silver linings, leggings that were clearly costly and brightly dyed green and tall leather boots. I wore a pair of fine fur-trimmed leather gloves. On my back I carried by its thin leather strap a lute! I wore the round yellow patch as well. And when I realized this, I felt a certain vulnerability I'd never known before.
My hair was shoulder length and blond and curly, and I was more stunned by recognizing myself in this garb than by anything that the crowd before me might do.
They were one and all stepping aside for me and gesturing to the gate of the house through which I could just see the light of the courtyard inside.
I knew this was my destination. No doubt of it. But before I could reach for a bell rope, or call out a name, one of the elders of the crowd stepped up as if to bar my way.
”You enter that house at your own peril,” he said. ”It's in the possession of a dybbuk. We have called the elders together three times to exorcise this demon, but we have failed.
”Yet the headstrong young man who owns the house won't leave. And now the world, which once trusted him and respected him, has begun to regard him with fear and contempt.”
”Nevertheless,” I said, ”I'm here to see him.”
”This is not good for any of us,” said another one of the men present. ”And your playing a lute for his patient is not going to change what is happening under this roof.”
”What then would you say I should do?” I asked.
An uneasy laughter went through the group. ”Stay clear of this house and stay clear of Vitale ben Leone until he determines to leave it and the owner decides to have it pulled down.”
The house looked immense with four stories of round arched windows, and the action described seemed desperate.
”I tell you something evil has taken up its habitation here,” said one of the other men. ”Can you hear it? Can you hear the noises inside?”
I could in fact hear the noises inside. It sounded as if things were being thrown about. And it seemed that something made of gla.s.s was shattered.
I banged on the gate. Then I saw the rope for the bell and pulled hard on it. If the bell rang, it was deep within the interior of the house.
The men around me backed away as the gate finally opened, and a young gentleman, about my age, stood squarely on the threshold. He had thick black shoulder-length curly hair and deep-set dark eyes. He was as finely dressed as I was in a padded tunic and leggings and he wore Moroccan leather slippers on his feet.
”Ah, good, you've come,” he said to me, and without so much as a word to the others, he pulled me inside the courtyard of the house.
”Vitale, leave this place before you're ruined,” said one of the men to him.
”I refuse to run,” Vitale answered. ”I will not be driven out. And besides, Signore Antonio owns this house and he is my patron and I do as he says. Niccol is his son, is he not?”
The gate was shut and the heavy wooden door closed and bolted.
An old servant stood there holding a candle which he s.h.i.+elded with his skeletal fingers.
But the sharp light came from the high roof into the courtyard, and only when we started up the broad stone steps did we find ourselves plunged into shadow and in need of the little flame to guide our way.
It was like many an Italian house, showing only drab windowed walls to the streets, but its interior was worthy of the word ”palazzo,” and I was enthralled by the sheer size and solidity of it as we made our way through vast and polished rooms. I glimsed beautifully frescoed walls, floors of rich marble tile, and a wealth of dark tapestries.
A loud cras.h.i.+ng noise sounded somewhere and this brought our little party to a halt.
The old servant uttered some prayers in Latin, and crossed himself, which surprised me, but the young man with me appeared fearless and defiant.
”I won't be driven out by it,” he said. ”I will find out what it is that it wants. And as for Niccol, I will find a way to cure him. I am not cursed and I am no poisoner.”
”That's what they're accusing you of? Of poisoning your patient?”
”It's because of the ghost. If it weren't for the ghost, I would be under no suspicion whatsoever. And because of the ghost I can't attend to Niccol, which is what I should be doing now. I put the word out for you to play the lute for Niccol.”
”Then let's go to him, and I'll play the lute just as you've asked me.”
He stared at me, indecisive, and then rattled again by a fierce crash that came from what might have been the cellar.
”Do you believe this is a dybbuk here?” he asked.
”I don't know.”
”Come into my study.” he said. ”Let's talk just for a few minutes together before we go to Niccol.”
There were sounds now coming from everywhere, creaking doorways, and the sound of someone on a lower floor stomping his feet.
At last we opened the double doors of the study, and the servant quickly lighted several more candles for us as the shutters were drawn. The place was stacked with books and papers, and I could see gla.s.s cabinets of peeling leather volumes. It was plain some of these books were printed, and some were not. On the various small tables there were handwritten codices open, and on others papers filled with what looked like scribbling, and in the center of the room was the man's desk.
He gestured for me to take the Roman chair beside it. And then he flopped down, put his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands.
”I didn't think you would come,” he said. ”I didn't know who in Rome would play a lute for my patient now that I am in such disgrace. Only the father of my patient, my good friend Signore Antonio, believes that any measure I take might be helpful.”
”I'll do whatever it is you need for me to do,” I said. ”I wonder if a lute might calm this troublesome spirit.”
”Oh, what an interesting thought,” he conceded, ”but in this day and age of the Holy Inquisition, do you think one of us can dare to try to charm a demon? We'd be branded witches or sorcerers if we did this. Besides I need you badly at the bedside of my patient.”
”Think of me as the answer to your prayers. I'll play for your patient and do whatever it is I can possibly do to help you with this spirit, also.”
He looked at me for a long thoughtful moment, and then he said, ”I can trust you. I know that I can.”
”Good. Let me be of service to you.”
”First listen to my story. It's brief and we have to be on our way, but let me tell you how it unfolded.”