Part 8 (1/2)

He licked his lips. He'd had but the tiniest portion of the caviar, and could easily conceal the effects.

Again a deep silence fell. Only the sudden shuddering of Niccol broke the silence.

”Brother,” he whispered. ”This is all on account of Leticia.”

”A lie!” said Lodovico thickly. ”How dare you?”

”Oh, if only I'd known,” said Niccol. ”What is she but one of many lovely young maidens who might have been to me a gentle bride? If only I'd known.”

Signore Antonio glowered at Lodovico.

”Leticia, is it?” he whispered.

”I tell you, these Jews have bewitched him. I tell you it is they who put the poison in the caviar, I tell you I am innocent.” He was weeping, he was angry, he was whispering and muttering, and once again, he spoke. ”It was this one, Vitale, who brought the flower to the house. I remember it now. How else should he and his friend know of its power? I tell you, this one, this Toby, is convicted out of his own mouth.”

The old man shook his head at the pity of it.

”Come,” said Signore Antonio. He gestured for his armed servants to take Lodovico in hand. He looked at me. ”Take me down to the orangery and show me this medicine.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE YOUNG MAN'S FACE WAS TWISTED WITH MALICE. The very plasticity which had given him such easy grief before now gave him a mask of fury. He pushed the armed men off and walked with his head high as we descended the steps, and gathered, all of us, save for Niccol, of course, in the orangery.

There stood the plant, and I pointed out the many black seeds which had fallen already into the soil. I pointed out the half-withered flowers already harboring the poison.

A servant was sent to find some poor stray dog that it might be brought into the house, and soon the yelps of the poor little beast were echoing up the broad stairway.

Vitale stared at the purple flowers in horror. Signore Antonio merely glowered at it, and the two priests stood staring coldly at me and at Vitale as though we were still somehow responsible for what had happened here.

An elderly woman, much bewildered and frightened, produced a crockery dish for the poor starved dog and went to fill it with water.

I put back on the gloves I'd removed to play the lute, and requesting Lodovico's dagger, I gathered the seeds into a heap and then looked around for something with which to crush them. Only the handle of the dagger was at hand. And so I used it to make a powder, a good pinch of which I now put into the dog's water. I put in another pinch and yet another.

The animal drank thirstily and miserably and licked at the bare dish and then immediately began to twitch. It fell on its side, and then on its back and writhed in its agony. In a moment, it had become rigid, its eyes staring dully at nothing and no one.

All watched this little spectacle with revulsion and horror, including me.

But Lodovico was incensed, staring at the priests, and at his father, and then at the dog.

”I swear I am innocent of this!” he declared. ”The Jews know the poison. The Jews brought it here. Why, it was this very Jew Vitale who brought the plant to the house...”

”You contradict your story,” said Antonio. ”You lie. You stammer. You beg for credence like a coward!”

”I tell you I had no part in it!” cried out the desperate man. ”These Jews have bewitched me as they have bewitched my brother. If this thing was done by me, it was in a sleep in which I knew nothing. It was in a sleep in which I wandered, carrying out the acts they forced me to carry out. What do you know of these Jews? You speak of their holy books, but what do you know of these books but that they aren't filled with the witchcraft that drove me to this? Doesn't the demon rage in the accursed house at this very hour?”

”Signore Antonio,” said the elder priest, the one with the sharp yet gentle features. ”Something must be said of this demon. People in the street can hear it howl. Is all this beyond what a demon can do? I think not!”

Lodovico had a thousand protests-that yes, it was the demon, and yes, it had worked its sinister magic on him, and could no one imagine the evil of this demon, and so forth and so on.

But the solemn Antonio was having none of it. He stared at his natural son with a face that was sad to the point of tears, but no tears flowed. ”How could you do this?” he whispered.

Suddenly Lodovico broke loose from the two men who stood beside him, their hands barely holding him.

He rushed at the tree of purple flowers and grabbed at the black seeds in the mud of the pot. He caught as many as his hand could hold.

”Stop him,” I cried. And I flew at him, pus.h.i.+ng him backwards, but his hand shot to his lips before I could stop it, forcing the mud and seeds into his open mouth. I jerked his hand away but it was too late.

The guards were on him and so was his father.

”Make him vomit it up,” cried Vitale desperately. ”Let me get to him, stand back.”

But I knew it was useless.

I moved away, utterly distraught. What had I allowed to happen here! It was too awful. It was exactly what I myself had wanted to do to him, what I myself had pictured, scooping up the seeds, forcing him to eat them, but he had done this himself as if my evil intentions had taken hold of him. How had I let him do this dreadful deed? Why had I not figured some way to turn him from his purpose?

Lodovico looked at his father. He was choking and shuddering. The guards backed away and only Signore Antonio held him as he began to convulse and then to slip to the floor.

”Merciful Lord,” whispered Signore Antonio, and so did I.

Merciful Lord, have mercy on his immortal soul. Lord in Heaven, forgive him his madness.

”Witchcraft!” said the dying man, his mouth smeared with saliva and mud, and it was his last word. On his knees, he bent forward, his face contorted, and the convulsions shook his entire frame.

Then he rolled over on his side, his legs still twitching, and his face took on the rigid grimace of the poor animal that had died before him.

And I, I who in a life hundreds of years away, and in a land far far away, had used this very poison to dispatch untold victims, could only stand staring helplessly at this one. Oh, what a blunder, that I, sent to answer prayers, had brought about a suicide.

A silence fell over us all.

”He was my friend,” Vitale whispered.

As the old man started to rise, Vitale took his arm.

Niccol appeared in the gateway. Not making a sound, he stood there in his long white bed tunic, barefoot, trembling, yet staring at his dead brother.

”Go out, all of you,” said Signore Antonio. ”Leave me with my son here. Leave me.”

But the elder priest lingered. He was much shaken as were we all, but he gathered his resources and said in a low, contemptuous voice, ”Do not think for a moment that witchcraft is not in operation here,” he said. ”That your sons have not been contaminated by their intercourse with these Jews.”

”Fr. Piero, silence,” said the old man. ”This was not witchcraft, this was envy! And I did not see what I did not want to see. Now leave me, all of you. Leave me to be alone to mourn my son whom I took from his mother's arms. Vitale, take your patient to his bed. He will recover now.”

”But the demon, does it not still rage?” the priest demanded. No one was listening to him.