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  "And taxes? What happens if one does not pay what is owed?"

  "Well, well, that is a delicate matter. Taxes fall within the category of res odiosae, in the sense that no one pays them willingly. Let us say that it is surely a sin not to pay those which are just, while in the case of unjust taxes, the matter should be examined case by case."

  Robleda then enlightened me on many other instances in which, not knowing Jesuit doctrine, I would doubtless have reached very different conclusions: a man who has been unjustly condemned may escape from prison and may get the guards drunk and help his fellow prisoners to escape; it is licit to rejoice at the death of a relative who leaves one a great inheritance, so long as that is done without personal enmity; one may read books which have been banned by the Church, but for no more than three days and six pages at a time; one may steal from one's parents without sinning, but no more than fifty gold pieces; and whoever swears on oath but only pretends to do so is not obliged to keep his word.

  "In other words, one may perjure oneself!" I concluded in utter astonishment.

  "Do not be so crude. It all depends on the intention. Sin is deliberate detachment from the Word of God," intoned Robleda solemnly. "If, however, one commits it only in appearance, but without real intent, then one will be saved."

  I left Robleda's chamber, vacillating between disquiet and prostration. Thanks to the learning of the Jesuits, I thought, Pellegrino had good chances of saving his soul. But from this discourse it seemed almost as though white were black, truth the same as lies, and good and evil one and the same thing.

  Perhaps Abbot Melani was not as upright as he would wish one to believe. But, I thought, Robleda was even less to be trusted.

  Luncheon was already late, and our guests, who had fasted since the evening before, descended rapidly to the kitchen. After hastily regaling themselves with my broth containing little dumplings and hop shoots, which no one cared for, it was Cristofano who called our attention to what was to be done next. The men-at-arms would soon be calling us to appear at the windows. The presence of another sick person would surely cause the Congregation for Public Health to decree there was a danger of pestilence and the quarantine would then be maintained and strengthened. Perhaps a pest-house might be improvised to which we would all sooner or later be transferred. Such a possibility was enough to make even brave men tremble.

  "Then, our only hope is to try to escape," gasped the glass-blower Brenozzi.

  "It would not be possible," observed Cristofano. "They will already have erected gates and closed off the road, and even if we were to succeed in getting past them, we would be hunted down throughout the Papal States. We could try to cross the territory in the direction of Loreto, fleeing through the woods, and to embark on the Adriatic and flee by sea. But I have no sure friends along that way, nor do I think that any of us is better off in that respect. We would be reduced to begging strangers to take us in, always running the risk of betrayal by whoever offers us hospitality. Otherwise, we could try to take refuge in the Kingdom of Naples, travelling by night and sleeping by day. I am certainly no longer of an age to support such heavy exertions; and there are others among you who have perhaps not been favoured by nature. Besides, we would, of course, need a guide, a shepherd or a villager, who would not be so easy to persuade, to lead us through the hills and vales, and who must above all not guess that we are hunted fugitives, or he would hand us over to his master without thinking twice. Lastly, we are too numerous to escape, and none of us bear certificates of health: so we would all be stopped at the first border post. Our chances of success would, in other words, be negligible. And all that without counting the fact that, even were we to succeed, we would be doomed never to return to Rome."

  "And so what?" rejoined Bedfordi, snorting disdainfully and letting his hands dangle ridiculously from his wrists in a gesture of impatience.

  "And so, Pellegrino will reply to the roll-call," replied Cristofano without the slightest loss of composure.

  "But if he cannot even stand on his feet," I objected.

  "He will," replied the physician. "He must."

  When he had finished, he retained us yet longer and proposed, in order to strengthen us against any possible infection, that we should take physick to modify the humours. Some remedies were, he said, already prepared, others he would make ready with the herbs and essences which he carried with him, and drawing upon Pellegrino's well-stocked pantry.

  "You will like neither the taste nor the smell. But they are prepared with great authority," and here he stared significantly in Bedfordi's direction. "They include the elixir vitae, the quinte essence, second water and prepared mother of balsam, oleumphilosophorum, the great liquor, caustic, diaromatic, the angelic electuary, oil of vitriol, oil of sulphur, imperial musk tablets and a whole series of fumigants, pills and odoriferous balls to be worn on the chest. These purify the air and will not allow any infection to enter. But do not abuse them: together with distilled vinegar, they contain crystalline arsenic and Greek pitch. In addition, I shall every morning administer to you my original quinte essence, obtained from an excellent matured white wine grown in mountainous regions, which I have distilled in a bain-marie, then enclosed in a glass decanter with a stopper of bitter herbs and buried upside-down in good, warm horse manure for twenty days and twenty nights. Once the decanter has been extracted from the manure-an operation which, I insist, must always be carried out with the greatest dexterity so as not to contaminate the preparation-I separate the sky-blue distillate from the lees: that is the quinte essence. I store this in small, hermetically sealed vessels. It will preserve you from all manner of corruption and putrefaction and from every other kind of disease, and such indeed are its virtues that it can resuscitate the dead."

  "What matters to us that it should not kill the living," sneered Bedfordi.

  The physician was piqued: "Its principle has been approved by Raymond Lull, Philip Ulstad and many other philosophers, both ancient and modern. But I should like to conclude: I have for each of you the most excellent pills, of half a drachm each, to be carried in your pocket and taken at once, the moment you feel yourselves to be in the least touched by the infection. They are all made up of the most appropriate simples: four drachms of Armenian bole, terra sigillata, zedoary, camphor, tormentil, burning bush and hepatic aloes, with a scruple of saffron and cloves, and one of diagrydium, juice of savoy cabbage and cooked honey. They are designed especially to dissipate the pestilence caused by the corruption of natural heat. The Armenian bole and terra sigillata extinguish the great fire in the body and mortify the alterations. Zedoary has the virtue of desiccating and resolving. Camphor refreshes, and it, too, has the effect of drying. Burning bush is a counter-poison. Hepatic aloes preserve one from putrescence and free the body. Saffron and cloves preserve and cheer the heart. And diagrydium dissolves the superfluous humidity of the body."

  The audience remained silent.

  "You may be confident," insisted Cristofano. "I myself have perfected the formulae, drawing inspiration from the famous recipes tried and proven by the most excellent masters during visitations of the most fearsome pestilences. Such as the stomachic syrups of Master Giovanni of Volterra, which…"

  At that moment a hubbub arose in the group of onlookers: quite unexpectedly, Cloridia had arrived.

  Until that moment, she had remained in her chamber, careless as ever of mealtimes. Her entry was greeted variously. Brenozzi tormented his sapling, Stilone Priaso and Devize tidied their hair, Cristofano drew in his paunch discreetly, Padre Robleda blushed, while Atto Melani sneezed. Only Bedfordi and Dulcibeni remained impassive.

  It was precisely between those two that the courtesan took her place, without being invited.

  Cloridia's appearance was indeed singular: beneath the extreme whiteness of her face powder, her complexion was, despite her efforts, distinctly dark, forming a strange contrast with the thick, curly and artificially lightened tresses which framed her spacious forehead and
the regular oval of her face. A snub nose, though small and graceful, large velvety black eyes, perfect teeth with never a gap between them in a full mouth: these were only the accompaniment to what most struck the eye: a most ample decolletage, underlined by a polychrome bandeau of entwined kerchiefs which encircled her shoulders and terminated in a large bow between her breasts.

  Bedfordi made room for her on the bench, while Dulcibeni remained immobile.

  "I am sure that some of you would like to know how many days it will be before we leave here," said Cloridia in amiably tempting tones, as she laid a pack of Tarot cards on the table.

  "Libera nos a malo" murmured Robleda, crossing himself and rising hurriedly, without even taking his leave.

  No one responded to Cloridia's invitation, which all believed to be merely introductory to other deeper but financially more onerous inquiries.

  "Perhaps this is not the best of moments, dear lady," said Atto Melani courteously, to save her from embarrassment. "So sad is our plight that it overshadows even your delightful company."

  To everyone's surprise, Cloridia then grasped Bedfordi's hand and drew it gently to her: precisely in front of that luxuriant bosom, decollete after the French fashion.

  "Perhaps it would be better to have a nice palm reading," proposed Cloridia, "but gratis, of course, and only for your pleasure."

  This once, Bedfordi remained speechless, and, before he could refuse, Cloridia had lovingly opened his fist.

  "Here we are," said she, caressing the Englishman's palm with a fingertip. "You'll see, you will really enjoy this."

  All present (including myself) had imperceptibly stretched forward, the better to see and to hear.

  "Has anyone ever read your palm?" asked Cloridia, gently smoothing first his fingertips and then his wrist.

  "Yes. I mean no… I mean, not like this."

  "Calm down, and Cloridia will explain to you all the secrets of the hand and of good fortune. First of all, the fingers of the hand are unequal for decency's sake, and for greater ease in using them. The great finger is known as the thumb or Pollex, quiapollet, meaning that it is stronger than the others. The second is called the Index, because it is used to indicate; the third is called Infamous, because 'tis a sign of derision and contumely; the fourth is the Medical or Annular, meaning that it is the ring finger; and the fifth is the Auricular, because 'tis used to pick and to clean the ears."

  While she conducted her review of the digital apparatus, Cloridia underlined her every phrase by wantonly tickling Bedfordi's fingers, while he strove to conceal his agitation with a weak smile, showing a sort of involuntary aversion before the fair sex which I have observed only in travellers coming from northern climes. Cloridia went on to illustrate other parts of the hand: "Here, you see, this line which ascends from the wrist towards the index finger, right here, is the Life Line, or Heart Line. This one which cuts across the hand more or less from left to right is the Natural Line or Head Line. Its sister line, close by, is known as the Convivial Line. This little swelling is known as the Girdle of Venus. Do you like that name?" inquired Cloridia insinuatingly.

  "I do, very much so," interrupted Brenozzi.

  "Get back, you idiot," retorted Stilone, repelling Brenozzi's attempt to conquer a position closer to Cloridia.

  "I know, I know, it is a lovely name," said Cloridia, turning first to

  Bedfordi, then to Brenozzi with a knowing little smile, "but these too are beautiful: the Finger of Venus, the Mount of Venus, the Finger of the Sun, the Mount of the Sun, the Finger of Mars, the Mount of Mars, the Mount of Jupiter, the Finger of Saturn, the Mount of Saturn and the Seat of Mercury."

  While she thus illustrated fingers, knuckles, wrinkles, lines, joints, swellings and hollows, in skilful and sensual counterpoint, Cloridia shifted her index finger alternately from Bedfordi's palm to her own cheeks, to the Englishman's palm and then to her own lips, again to Bedfordi's wrist, then to the first gentle slopes of her generous bosom. Bedfordi swallowed.

  "Then we have the Line of the Liver, the Line or Way of the Sun, the Line of Mars, the Line of Saturn, the Mount of the Moon, and it all concludes with the Milky Way…"

  "Oh yes, the Milky Way," gulped Brenozzi, swooning away.

  By now, almost all the group had gathered around Cloridia, as not even the ox and the ass did with Our Lord on the night when he came into the world.

  "However, you do have a fine hand, and your soul must be even finer," said Cloridia obligingly, drawing Bedfordi's palm for a brief instant to the brown skin between her bosom and her neck.

  "As to your body, however, I cannot tell," said she, laughing and playfully pushing Bedfordi's hand far from her, as though in self defence, then seizing Dulcibeni's.

  All eyes were fixed on the older gentleman. He, however, broke free of the courtesan's grasp with a brusque, ill-humoured gesture and, rising from the table, made his way towards the stairs.

  "But what a to-do," commented Cloridia ironically, trying to hide her pique by vexedly arranging a lock of her hair. "And what an ugly temper!"

  At that very moment, the thought crossed my mind that in the past few days Cloridia had sat ever closer to Dulcibeni, who had, however, repulsed her with growing irritation. Unlike Robleda, who made an exaggerated show of being scandalised by the courtesan but had perhaps willingly visited her on several nights, Dulcibeni seemed to experience a real, deep disgust in the young woman's presence. No other guest at the inn dared treat Cloridia with such disdain. But, perhaps precisely because of that, or because of the money which (as seemed clear) Dulcibeni did not lack, the courtesan seemed to have set her heart on speaking to the gentleman from Fermo. Since she was unable to extract one word from him, Cloridia had several times asked me about Dulcibeni, being curious to learn any particulars concerning him.

  The doctor took advantage of the abrupt break in the palm reading to resume his explanations about the remedies against the risk of infection. He distributed various pills, odoriferous balls and other things to us. We then all filed up behind him when he went to check on the state of Pellegrino's health.

  We entered my master's chamber, where he lay on his bed, seeming now a little less livid. The daylight from the window gave us comfort while the physician inspected his patient.

  "Mmmh," groaned Pellegrino.

  "He is not dead," affirmed Cristofano. "His eyes are half-open, he still has a fever, but his colours have improved. And he has wet himself."

  We commented on the news with great relief. Soon, however, the Tuscan physician found that his patient was catatonic and able to respond only weakly to external stimuli.

  "Pellegrino, tell me what you understand of my words," murmured Cristofano.

  "Mmmh," repeated my master.

  "He cannot," observed the physician, with conviction. "He is able to discern voices but not to answer. I have already encountered such a one: a peasant who was crushed by a tree trunk blown down by the wind. For months, he was unable to utter a word, although he was perfectly able to understand whatever his wife and children said to him."

  "And then what happened?"

  "Nothing. He died."

  I was asked to say a few words gently to the patient, to try to revive him. But I met with no success; not even by murmuring to him that the inn was in flames and his stock of wine in danger could I get him to overcome the torpor that enveloped him.

  Despite this, Cristofano was relieved. The two protuberances on my master's neck were becoming lighter in colour and receding; so they were not tokens. Whether petechiae or mere bruises, they were now regressing. We no longer seemed to be threatened by a visitation of the plague. We could at last relax a little. We did not, however, abandon the sick man to his fate. We at once checked that Pellegrino was able to swallow both solids and liquids, however slowly; and I offered to feed him regularly. The inn remained nevertheless deprived of the person who best knew it and was best equipped to serve us. I was just reflecting on these considerations when the othe
rs, satisfied with their visit to their host's bedside, gradually dispersed. I remained alone by the physician's side, while he continued his careful observation of Pellegrino's inert and supine body.

  "I would venture that matters are improving; but one must always beware of being over-sure when dealing with distempers," he commented.

  We were interrupted by the vigorous ringing of a bell in the Via dell'Orso, just under our windows. I leaned out; there stood three men sent to make our roll-call and ensure that none of us had escaped the watchman's attention. First, however, Cristofano must report to them on our state of health. I ran to the other chambers and gathered all the guests together. Some looked apprehensively at my poor master, who was totally incapable of standing on his own feet.

  Fortunately, the sagacity of Cristofano and Abbot Melani soon saw that problem resolved. We assembled on the first floor, in Pompeo Dulcibeni's apartment. Cristofano was the first to show himself at the window, assuring the men that nothing special had happened, no one had shown the slightest sign of infirmity and all seemed in perfect health.

  We then began to file before the window, one by one, in order to be inspected. But the doctor and Atto had so arranged matters as thoroughly to confuse the three inspectors. Cristofano led Stilone Priaso, then Robleda, and finally Bedfordi to the window, while the three were calling the names of other guests. Cristofano excused himself several times for involuntarily mixing up names, but in the meanwhile a considerable confusion had arisen. When Pellegrino's turn came, Bedfordi succeeded in creating yet more chaos: he began to scream and shout in English, asking (as Atto Melani explained) to be freed forthwith. The three inspectors responded with insults and mockery, but in the meantime Pellegrino passed by rapidly. He seemed to be in perfect form: his hair was well combed, his pale cheeks had been coloured with Cloridia's rouge. At the same time,

  Devize began to gesticulate and to protest at our reclusion, completely distracting the inspectors' attention from Pellegrino. Thus it was that they concluded their visit without becoming aware of my master's wretched state of health.