Read Online Poison: A Novel of the Renaissance by Sara Poole - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sara Poole
Tags: Biographical, Fiction, Historical fiction, General, Historical, Historical - General, Rome, Fiction - Historical, Revenge, Renaissance, Alexander, Nobility, Italy, Rome (Italy), Borgia; Cesare, Borgia; Lucrezia, Cardinals, Renaissance - Italy - Rome, Cardinals - Italy - Rome, Women poisoners, Nobility - Italy - Rome
Ads: Link
friends?”
If I hoped that Rocco would respond to my clumsy attempt to bring up Lux, I was disappointed. He merely shrugged and said, “I would help you if I could, Francesca, but I truly do not know what your father was doing. If Borgia also does not, perhaps Giovanni had reason to keep it to himself.”
“I am not so certain that His Eminence doesn’t know,” I confessed for, having failed yet again, I had little left to lose. “He may or may not. I think his interest runs more to whether my father left records of his work.”
Briefly, I told him of the mission I had been sent on. When I was done, I asked, “Have you ever been in the ghetto?”
“Occasionally. I have customers there, or at least I did before all the trouble started.”
“You mean the refugees?”
Rocco nodded. “I hear it’s a real mess there now.”
“And likely to get worse. In little more than a month, any Jew left in Spain will be subject to immediate execution.”
“They’re mad, those Spaniards.”
“Maybe so, but it’s not as though the Jews are welcome here. Conditions in the ghetto are terrible.”
Something in my voice must have revealed my distress at what I had seen, for Rocco got up, went to the cabinet, and poured wine for us both. Returning to the table, he set a goblet in front of me. “Drink that before you say anything more.”
Grateful, I did as he said. The wine hit my empty stomach hard, but it also gave me a small sense of distance from the reality I had witnessed.
“Did you know that my father went there?”
“To the ghetto?”
“He knew a woman there, an apothecary.”
“How do you know this?”
I told him about Sofia Montefiore. When I was done, Rocco shook his head slowly. “She says it was winter when she last saw your father, but the Cardinal believes he was there much more recently?”
I nodded. “I have to assume that is the case since Borgia sent me to see her at the same time he said he wanted any records of recent work that my father might have left.”
“Do you think she is telling the truth?”
That was the crux of it. Sofia Montefiore had showed no surprise at my sudden appearance. It was almost as though she had been expecting me.
Slowly, I said, “No, I don’t.”
Rocco sighed and sat back in his chair. He twirled the stem of his goblet between his large fingers scarred by so many years of work with fire and glass. His eyes met mine.
“The Jews have a rough time of it. She won’t tell you anything unless you can convince her to trust you.”
I finished the last of my wine and pushed my glass toward him. As he refilled it, I said, “And to do that—” The images of what I had seen flowed through my mind—the suffering, the horror, the grinding hopelessness of the ghetto from which there seemed to be no escape except death itself.
“To do that,” I said, “I have to go back.”
6
Steeled in my resolve to discover whatever Sofia Montefiore knew, I returned to the ghetto the next day. Vittoro came with me—for protection but also to carry the medicines I brought. I would like to tell you that I intended them as an act of charity in obedience to the injunction that we are to do unto others as we would have them do unto us, but the truth is I brought them in order to bribe the apothecary.
Perhaps bribe is too harsh a word. Call them an inducement to convince her to tell me what I needed to know, and in so doing spare us both a great deal of trouble. But before I could approach her, I had to run the gauntlet of suffering that was the ghetto and find again its Via di Miseria where her shop was located.
Although we looked around for Benjamin as soon as we passed through the gate, we saw no sign of him. I had a flicker of concern that he was picking pockets in the city beyond and risking direpunishment in the process, but before we had gotten very far, he popped out from behind a pile of garbage with a nonchalant grin on his face.
“Everyone’s talking about
If I hoped that Rocco would respond to my clumsy attempt to bring up Lux, I was disappointed. He merely shrugged and said, “I would help you if I could, Francesca, but I truly do not know what your father was doing. If Borgia also does not, perhaps Giovanni had reason to keep it to himself.”
“I am not so certain that His Eminence doesn’t know,” I confessed for, having failed yet again, I had little left to lose. “He may or may not. I think his interest runs more to whether my father left records of his work.”
Briefly, I told him of the mission I had been sent on. When I was done, I asked, “Have you ever been in the ghetto?”
“Occasionally. I have customers there, or at least I did before all the trouble started.”
“You mean the refugees?”
Rocco nodded. “I hear it’s a real mess there now.”
“And likely to get worse. In little more than a month, any Jew left in Spain will be subject to immediate execution.”
“They’re mad, those Spaniards.”
“Maybe so, but it’s not as though the Jews are welcome here. Conditions in the ghetto are terrible.”
Something in my voice must have revealed my distress at what I had seen, for Rocco got up, went to the cabinet, and poured wine for us both. Returning to the table, he set a goblet in front of me. “Drink that before you say anything more.”
Grateful, I did as he said. The wine hit my empty stomach hard, but it also gave me a small sense of distance from the reality I had witnessed.
“Did you know that my father went there?”
“To the ghetto?”
“He knew a woman there, an apothecary.”
“How do you know this?”
I told him about Sofia Montefiore. When I was done, Rocco shook his head slowly. “She says it was winter when she last saw your father, but the Cardinal believes he was there much more recently?”
I nodded. “I have to assume that is the case since Borgia sent me to see her at the same time he said he wanted any records of recent work that my father might have left.”
“Do you think she is telling the truth?”
That was the crux of it. Sofia Montefiore had showed no surprise at my sudden appearance. It was almost as though she had been expecting me.
Slowly, I said, “No, I don’t.”
Rocco sighed and sat back in his chair. He twirled the stem of his goblet between his large fingers scarred by so many years of work with fire and glass. His eyes met mine.
“The Jews have a rough time of it. She won’t tell you anything unless you can convince her to trust you.”
I finished the last of my wine and pushed my glass toward him. As he refilled it, I said, “And to do that—” The images of what I had seen flowed through my mind—the suffering, the horror, the grinding hopelessness of the ghetto from which there seemed to be no escape except death itself.
“To do that,” I said, “I have to go back.”
6
Steeled in my resolve to discover whatever Sofia Montefiore knew, I returned to the ghetto the next day. Vittoro came with me—for protection but also to carry the medicines I brought. I would like to tell you that I intended them as an act of charity in obedience to the injunction that we are to do unto others as we would have them do unto us, but the truth is I brought them in order to bribe the apothecary.
Perhaps bribe is too harsh a word. Call them an inducement to convince her to tell me what I needed to know, and in so doing spare us both a great deal of trouble. But before I could approach her, I had to run the gauntlet of suffering that was the ghetto and find again its Via di Miseria where her shop was located.
Although we looked around for Benjamin as soon as we passed through the gate, we saw no sign of him. I had a flicker of concern that he was picking pockets in the city beyond and risking direpunishment in the process, but before we had gotten very far, he popped out from behind a pile of garbage with a nonchalant grin on his face.
“Everyone’s talking about
Similar Books
