Read Online In the Company of the Courtesan by Sarah Dunant - Free Book Online Page A

to take a ship for Venice, most of the boats had already been commandeered by soldiers with Roman booty. In the sweltering weeks that followed, my lady had been felled by a fever, and while I had done the best for her wounds with whatever salves I could find, it was clear now, in the crueler light of our security, that it had not been enough.
    From the look in her eyes, I knew that she knew it too. God knows, she was still not ugly: the cut glass of those green eyes alone would have caught the attention of any man on a street. But great cities are full of women who can earn their next meal by raising their skirts. It is the ones who keep you in thrall to more than their snatches who command the houses and the gowns to go with them. And for that they have first to love themselves.
    I busied myself with the food, laying out the fish, vegetables, and wine, though I could find only a blunt knife and a broken fork, which I laid with careful ceremony on her knees, and next to it a clean gown. From this close, I could smell that the hangings around the bed held the odor of her mother’s last sickness in their folds. The morning contained more than the loss of her looks.
    â€œIt is Sunday,” I said cheerfully. “And we have slept for three days. The sun shines, and the pawn merchants here are Jews who give fair prices for fine gems.” I pushed the plate nearer to her fingers. “The flesh is tender, though the flavor a little weak. Take it slow to start with.”
    She did not move, her eyes still fixed intently on the window.
    â€œYou don’t like it? There is custard and honey cake if you would prefer.”
    â€œI am not hungry,” she said, and that voice, usually so expert at melody, was flat and dead.
    She told me once, not long after we met, how at confession she was often hard-pressed to decide which sins to admit to first; for while vanity, along with fornication, made up a necessary part of her profession, it was gluttony that she saw as her greatest weakness, because ever since she was a child she had loved her food. “That is because your stomach has shrunk. The juices will ease it open once you start,” I urged.
    I clambered onto the end of the bed with my own plate and started eating, cramming my mouth with fish flesh, licking the sauce off my fingers, concentrating on the food but always keeping her hands in sight so I could see if they moved. For a few moments the only sound was that of me chewing. One more mouthful and I would try again.
    â€œYou should have told me.” And now there was sharpness in the voice.
    I swallowed. “Told you what?”
    She clicked her tongue. “How many jewels have we left?”
    â€œFour pearls, five rubies, and the one great one from your necklace.” I waited. “More than enough.”
    â€œEnough for what? A miracle?”
    â€œFiammetta—”
    â€œTell me—why is it you find it so hard to look at me, Bucino?”
    â€œI am looking at you,” I said, pulling my head up and staring directly at her. “You are the one who is looking away.”
    Now she turned to me, her eyes as green and cold as the two emeralds I had just pawned to keep us fed. “And? What do you see?”
    â€œI see a beautiful woman with the luck of the Devil in need of food and a good bath.”
    â€œLiar. Look again. Or maybe you need help.”
    Her hand slid under the grimy sheet, and she pulled out a small, ivory-backed mirror. Time was in Rome when she could barely go an hour without scrutinizing her beauty, but with the Devil at your heels, you move too fast for vanity, and looking glasses are few and far between in the hull of a cargo ship. She twirled the stem of the mirror in her fingers, the sun catching the surface and sending prisms of light around the room. “It seems Meragosa sold everything that she could rip out of the floor, but what she didn’t know about she couldn’t steal. It was in