The Midwife of Venice (25 page)

The Magistrate turned to Jessica. “You are the child’s aunt. If that is so, you must be a Jew as well. And yet it seems from that ham in your window downstairs and the rosary you are clasping so fervently to your bosom that you are not.”

“The Lord led me to the Church of Rome years ago. I am a New Christian,” Jessica said.

Jacopo moved toward the bed. “Magistrate, Jews bring the plague on us by poisoning the wells, and then, when the city is in an uproar, bold as rats, they snatch Christian babies from their cradles!” He pointed to Jessica. “She is as much a Jew as her sister. Do not be deceived by her cheap props.”

“Justice is for me to dispense, not you.” The Magistrate turned to Jessica. “Now, what do you say to this allegation of Niccolò di Padovani’s murder? Were you or your sister involved?”

Jessica was quiet for a moment and then replied, “Niccolò was set upon by ruffians and killed for his purse when he was reeling home drunk from a party at the ca’ Venier.”

“How do you come by this information?”

“Magistrate, in my profession, we are all privy to information about certain nobles in Venice. And the streets have more ears than cobblestones. I am told that Niccolò was so drunk he could not perform. He lurched out into the street. When his friends followed him out to accompany
him home, he was nowhere to be found. Everyone knows that thieves and ruffians have free rein of the city at night. My sister had nothing to do with his death.”

“She is a whore and a liar!” said Jacopo. “My brother was found floating face up in the Rio della Misericordia. Dead of stab wounds inflicted by this Jewess.” He pointed at Hannah.

Jessica turned to face him. “There are rumours that you and Niccolò are heavily indebted to the moneylenders. Too much time spent at the casinos. How convenient for you if the Jewish moneylenders were all killed.” She paused. “You use the
Prosecuti
to do your dirty work for you.”

The Magistrate looked at Jacopo. “Just what is it you are up to? Do you dare to exploit my office?”

“Why would you take the word of a whore over the word of a nobleman?”

“Answer the question. So far this woman’s worst crime has been tending to her sick sister and the baby. You, on the other hand, have admitted to breaking the law.”

Jacopo was quiet now and appeared uncertain how to proceed.

“You are treading in dangerous waters, my friend.” Magistrate Zoccoli spoke slowly, as though a scrivener were taking down his words. “For all I know, it was you, di Padovani, who threw your brother into the canal over some brotherly rivalry. I will settle the matter thus: This woman is too sick now to answer for herself. If she lives, so be it. She will answer to me. Obviously, I cannot take her into custody without spreading the pestilence. My soldiers shall
remain outside, guarding the house to make sure neither the sister nor the baby leave. I will return in five days’ time. They will either all be dead, in which case that is the end of the matter, or Hannah Levi will be well enough to answer charges and have her evidence tested by the
strappado.”

Hannah knew that with her arms behind her back, wrists bound together, raised by the strap until her arms popped out of their sockets, she would confess to anything.

“Can you not see through this charade?” Jacopo said.

“My soldiers will be on watch twenty-four hours a day,” said the Magistrate. “Nothing will be lost by delaying justice for five days.”

“But what if these women manage to slip past your men and leave the city? This one”—he jerked a thumb in Hannah’s direction—“plans to sail to Malta.”

“Venice faces a bigger problem right now than this Jewess. The Doge has decreed that in two days, the city will be in quarantine. No ships will set sail for Malta or anywhere else.” The Magistrate rose to his feet. “We will take our leave.” He walked to the door, Jacopo trailing behind.

Jessica took a last secret glance at Hannah, a look of relief on her face, and followed them out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the front entrance. Hannah lay rigid, waiting until Jessica ushered the men out.

When she returned to the room, Jessica held her hand out for Hannah to see. “Look at me shaking. I need a glass of wine.” She glanced at Hannah. “And so do you.”

“You were magnificent,” Hannah said. “Nothing they said seemed to confound you in the slightest. I never
imagined you would be able to do it. My little sister has more courage than I could ever have predicted.”

Jessica walked to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and peered out. “The Magistrate is stepping into his gondola.”

“And the soldiers?” asked Hannah.

Leaning farther out the window, Jessica said, “Yes, there are two of them, on either side of my door, wearing the crest of the
Prosecuti.”
She let the curtain drop and leaned against the wall. “My God, I am weak as a kitten. I will fetch us that wine. We need it.”

After Jessica had left, Hannah turned to the child. Matteo had sweated in the shawl. The paste and unguents on his face had smeared, giving him the appearance of a wax effigy held too close to a candle. She gave him a gentle kiss on the top of his head and his blue eyes fixed on her face.

Jessica returned with a tray of two glasses and a bowl of almonds and set them on the table next to the bed. Hannah poured from the carafe and handed her sister a half-filled cup. Rising from the bed, she went to the washbasin behind Jessica’s dressing screen and began to scrub the concoction off her face and hands. Matteo was sleeping peacefully. She would wash him later.

Jessica said, “God has given us a reprieve.” She fell into a chair, her legs sprawled out in front of her. She took a sip from her glass. “But what next? What are we to do now?”

“We will think of something,” Hannah said as she dried her hands on a towel and took a seat on the side of the bed. She was exhausted and could not think. “We are prisoners in your house just as surely as Isaac is a prisoner in
Malta.” She fished a piece of meat from the almond shell with a pick, then glanced at Jessica. “What is it? You have an idea. I can tell by your face.”

Jessica took a gulp of wine and grinned. “They are not such an ugly sight.”

“Who?” Hannah asked. “The
Prosecuti
‘s soldiers?” She went to the window and gazed down at the soldiers, who were cramming lumps of bread and cheese into their mouths and passing back and forth a goatskin of wine.

Hannah felt the colour rise in her face.

“Look at them stuff their faces, the savages.”

Jessica came behind her and looked out the window. “Show me how a man behaves at table and I will tell you how he behaves in bed. These two will be quick about it.” Giving Hannah a poke in the ribs, she said, “It is not that difficult. Just close your eyes and pretend you are rolling out dough for
hamantashen
cookies for Purim. When they are spent and lying open-mouthed and snoring on the divan, we shall flee.”

“I could never,” Hannah whispered, afraid the two soldiers would hear and glance up.

“What does it matter now? Besides, you must do something to escape or this child will not be returned to his mother and the
Balbiana
will sail without you.”

Jessica popped an almond into her mouth just as Matteo began to stir. “Look, our gorgeous boy is waking up.”

“I love him more each day,” said Hannah. “I will find it painful to surrender him to his parents.”

The child began to wail.

“Go and fetch the goat’s milk. I will feed him.” Hannah rubbed the last bits of caked gesso off her face.

Jessica kicked off her shoes, high wooden-soled ones, fashioned to give her a graceful appearance but not for moving quickly. She walked to the doorway and turned. “Think about what I said. A rhythmic, stroking motion and then, before you know it …”

Hannah heard Jessica’s giggles as her sister flew down the stairs in her stocking feet.

Hannah reclined against the cushions of the bed, holding Matteo in front of her as his legs pumped the air. In the three days Matteo had been with her, Hannah had often caught herself daydreaming about what it would be like if he were her own child. She had tried to stop herself from imagining what Matteo would look like when he was older: whether his eyes would remain slate blue or turn dark, whether his hair would remain red, and even whether he would be an able student.

So much time elapsed that Hannah wondered what had detained Jessica. When she heard the blast from downstairs, it sounded like the explosions that sometimes occurred during the fires at the shipyards in the Arsenale. She put Matteo down on the bed and raced downstairs to the ground floor. As she ran past the front door she saw the two soldiers, their blue caps askew, charging down the Fondamenta in pursuit of someone. Hannah flung open the door to the larder.

Jessica lay on the floor, her face pressed against the cupboard door. Blood poured from a hole in her chest, staining the bodice of her velvet dress.

I
SAAC TRUDGED DOWN
the road that ran along the shore, eying the
Provveditore
bobbing at its lines. He ignored the ache in his legs and the blisters on his feet. It was no use, he thought, putting one weary foot in front of the other. He was no closer to freedom and returning to Hannah in Venice than he had been when he arrived in Malta earlier. Hector had made it clear that the Society could not help him. His letter-writing efforts on Joseph’s behalf had failed miserably. In lusting after Gertrudis, Joseph was the god Icarus, flying with waxen wings too close to the sun, except it was Isaac who would crash to earth.

Gertrudis continued to ignore Joseph, and as a result, Isaac’s backside was covered with welts from Joseph’s whip. Whatever meagre scraps he had been receiving from Joseph had now dwindled to almost nothing. Any longer and he would be dead of starvation or beatings. His only hope of escape now was Gertrudis, who had agreed to find him a boat so that he might row out to the harbour and steal aboard a ship. If the sentries caught him and threw him overboard as a stowaway, so be it. At least he would die quickly. He was on his way to the beach, but first he had some property to recover.

Isaac had lost every ducat he had to his name when he was captured by the Knights and enslaved. If he managed to make it back to Venice, he had nothing to offer Hannah. So he was going to recover the only thing he owned in the world, though he well knew that to risk his life for a few cocoons, each no bigger than a walnut, was madness.

From his position across the harbour, Isaac could see the sailors, small as mice from this distance, scurrying to hoist the square sails and lash them to the masts. Tomorrow morning, the
Provveditore
would cast off to take advantage of the breezes coming from the south, off the shores of North Africa. With any luck he would be on board.

From the main square, he heard the church bells ring six times. He would go to Assunta’s now. He would creep in during vespers, grab his small sack from behind the hearth brick, and steal out before she had time to know he had been in the convent.

His satchel, packed with the few things he had acquired in Malta—a spare shirt, a belt, his quills, and parchment—banged against his shoulder. He entered the convent grounds. Not a soul in the olive orchard, or in the courtyard. Mercifully empty. They were all in the chapel.

He pushed open the door of the convent kitchen and tiptoed toward the massive hearth at the far end of the room. The brick was on the left-hand side, second course from the top. Keeping a wary eye open for Assunta, he advanced, scuttling along in a half stoop. The brick would slide out easily. He would reach into the space and in a trice have the bag of eggs safely tucked into the bosom of his shirt.

But as he crept toward the hearth, Isaac tripped on a pile of mulberry branches heaped into a mound on the apron of the fireplace. He was about to sidestep the boughs when a series of slight movements caught his eye. He bent to examine a limb.

Masses of writhing, roiling worms were crawling, creeping, jockeying for position, and gorging themselves on bits of twigs and leaves. King of the Universe be praised! The eggs had hatched! She had not fed them to the rooster. He felt like lifting his arms to the heavens and dancing the
hora
. A few of the grubs, their white, cylindrical bodies covered with fine hair, overwhelmed by their gourmandizing, dropped to the ground. Each was about the length of a man’s finger; each body had a series of twelve rings around its circumference as though constricted by drawn threads. The area behind their masticators was engorged with food.
There was something repulsive yet enthralling in the orgy of twisting, gyrating bodies. The collective sound of their chewing was like the sweet humming of a cantor. He could not tear his eyes away.

But his shoulders slumped and all the joy left him as the realization hit him. He could not take these worms anywhere, much less on a sea voyage. He had no means of concealing them or keeping them fed with fresh mulberry leaves every day. It had been a foolish idea to retrieve them in the first place. Hannah would have to accept him, penniless as the day she stood under the wedding canopy with him.