Cosma’s shrill denunciation chilled Jessica to her marrow. Panic threatened to sweep through her, taking her wits with it. Though her terror at her discovery gnarled her stomach into knots, she fought to preserve her fragile control of the situation.
Jessica lifted her chin a notch and stared into the glittering eyes of the enraged beauty. “How now, Donna Cosma?” she asked as coolly as she could manage.
The courtesan backed up a step but did not flinch. “No wonder you hide your face! You bear the devil’s mark. You are Satan’s creature.”
Jessica moistened her trembling lips. “It is only a birthmark. I hide it to preserve myself from the very emotions you now feel. I am a good Catholic,” she added. Better than you, I suspect.
Cosma rallied from her initial shock. She curled her lips with contempt. “Oh, really? You have used your potions and incantations to bewitch Lord Bardolph. Why else would a man forsake my good company for…yours?”
A stunning realization shook Jessica. Jealousy had driven Cosma to her door and jealousy proved stronger than her fear or revulsion. Spurred by that powerful emotion, the courtesan could become more dangerous than a wounded lioness.
Fighting her instinct to run and hide, Jessica nodded toward her antechamber. “Let us sit and discuss this problem, Donna Cosma.”
Without giving her unwanted visitor a backward glance, Jessica brushed past her. She took the more comfortable of the two chairs and arranged the folds of her skirt while she waited for Cosma to join her. She prayed that her calm exterior would cloak the terror that thundered inside her chest. All the dread she had harbored during the past two decades enveloped her.
Cosma followed at a short distance as if afraid that she would become tainted if even so much as her hem touched Jessica. She refused the offered seat. Staring at Jessica, her eyes burned with hatred and loathing.
Cosma wasted no words. “Leave Francis alone. He is mine. We are engaged to be married.”
Jessica concealed her shock behind a smile. “Indeed? Then I wish you both much happiness—when you are wed. In the meantime, Lord Bardolph is a free man to come and go as he pleases. Remember, it is he who visits me. I do not run after him.”
“How can he possibly find you so attractive?” Cosma snarled.
Tread softly now. Jessica lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I am only a simple healer. All I did was to help his injured shoulder feel better.”
Cosma’s face grew red. “Witchcraft!” she spat. “You used your unholy spells to enchant poor Francis.”
Jessica gripped the arms of her chair for support. “Not so! I say holy prayers not incantations. My ointments are made from olive oil, beeswax and wholesome herbs.”
“Has he ever seen your face?”
Jessica turned her head away from her accuser. “I swear before God that I am not a sorceress.”
A wicked smile wreathed Cosma’s scarlet lips. “The truth of that is not for me to judge.”
Jessica’s breath seemed to solidify in her throat. She opened her mouth but no words came out. She could barely breathe. A tense silence filled the tiny chamber. Jessica’s heart pounded loudly against her breast. Would Cosma denounce her as a witch to the Holy Office? Jessica’s worst nightmare threatened to come true.
Cosma chuckled in a vile manner. “I will say nothing—if you henceforth reject all of Lord Bardolph’s advances, return his tokens—” She glared at the pretty yellow canary that trilled in his gilded cage by the window. “And undo your spell. Once I am safely married to Francis, this unpleasant matter will be forgotten.”
Made more bold by her threat, the courtesan ventured closer to Jessica. “If you do not—” She allowed the horrible thought to hang in the air between them. “I understand that they drown witches in the lagoon on moonless nights. They say that the wicked creatures sink without a trace. They return to their demonic master on that watery highway to hell.”
Cosma’s beautiful face contorted with malice. “No one will shrive a witch of her sins. There are none to mourn their passing. The condemned merely slip away. Green water muffles their last screams. Think on it.”
With that parting shot, Cosma donned her mask, pulled her cloak tighter around her trim figure and let herself out of the door. Jessica sagged against the back of her chair. Sophia, who had hovered in the hall, rushed to her side with a glass of wine.
“There now, child,” she soothed. “Sip this slowly. It will strengthen your blood.”
Jessica wiped her cold hand across her fevered brow. “God defend me! I fear that the sins of my parents have visited me at last.” She touched the dark stain on her face as if it burned. “What evil did my mother and father commit that God would brand me thus?” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Sophia put her short arm around Jessica’s heaving shoulders and hugged her. “Hush, my sweet! You prattle nonsense. You have listened to the ravings of a jealous woman.”
Jessica drank a little of the wine. “Cosma di Luna has nothing to fear from me. Lord Bardolph has no intention of marrying me—or her, for that matter. For all we know, he could already be married to some lady in England.” Jessica shut her mind against that idea.
Sophia nodded. “Pay Signorina di Luna no mind. She may be a beauty of renown but inside her heart, she is as rotten as last year’s pears. She is nothing but a whore.”
Jessica inhaled a fortifying breath of air. “But she called me a witch. Of the two of us, the laws of Venice and the Church would go harder against me.” She drank more of the wine.
Sophia held her tighter. “Do not let that piece of painted filth frighten you. Who would believe her? She wears her jealousy like a great green snake around her neck for all to see. It is clear as glass that she only desires the Englishman for his wealth and his title. She would not care a fig if he were ugly and a lecher in the bargain.”
Francis’s face appeared in Jessica’s imagination. What woman could resist such a handsome man, even if he did dress in the worst of taste? “Lord Bardolph has a good heart though prone to melancholy.”
“Exactly!” Sophia agreed. “And that is why you must help him to lighten his burden.”
Sophia dismissed the worrisome woman with a wave of her hand. “Fie! Fie, Jessica! Listen to me. You have given the greatest beauty of Venice cause to be jealous of you. Think what power you possess!”
Jessica sipped more of the wine while she pondered this startling truth. “Cosma could do me grievous injury.”
Sophia leaned over and whispered, “If you let her! The time has come, Jessica, for you to cease living in the shadows. Let the daylight into your life. Ignore Signorina di Luna with all her fine clothes and sparkling jewels. Seize what this moment offers you.”
The wine warmed the blood in Jessica’s veins. She rested her head against Sophia’s ample shoulder. “You mean that I should go out dancing tonight with Lord Bardolph?” she asked.
“Sì, now you have caught the right pig by the tail!” Sophia replied, draining the remainder of the wine in Jessica’s glass. “Take what pleasure you can. Life is far too short as it is, even without that whore’s threats.”
Doctor Stefano Leonardo strolled among the people who thronged the streets near the Rialto Bridge. Nodding to his many acquaintances, he basked in their open approval. As one of Venice’s most respected physicians, Doctor Leonardo savored the wealth and social status he had achieved. Unpleasant memories of the hunger and hiding in his youth had dimmed with time. Spain with its terrifying Inquisition was long past. Here in Venice no one suspected that the most trusted physician—one who enjoyed the patronage of the Doge himself—had returned to the religion of his forefathers. Pleased with the success of his deception, Doctor Leonardo stroked his snowy white beard as he inspected a platter of purple grapes fresh off a boat from Damascus.
“Messere Doctor?” said a low voice in Stefano’s ear.
He glanced over the heaps of produce at a short, anxious man with a curly brown beard and bushy eyebrows. Though he did not wear the yellow cap prescribed by Venetian law, Tubal was a Jew. Stefano inclined his head a fraction, then pointed to a shadowed alley. The little man darted away. Adjusting his handsome black bombazine robe with red-velvet facings, the eminent doctor sauntered after him.
“¡Buon giorno! Tubal. And a lovely day it is, too,” said Stefano. “Does something ail you? Your wind, perchance? More aches in your joints?”
Tubal shook his head. “I am sick with fear, good doctor.”
Stefano stepped further into the shadow cast by the buildings that enclosed the alleyway. “Speak softly, Tubal. Venice is alive with listening ears,” he whispered.
“The eyes and ears of the Holy Office,” Tubal agreed. He spat on the ground. “A pox on them all.”
Stefano tossed a quick glance over his shoulder, but no one appeared to be watching them. “Smile as you tell me in case we are observed. Many daggers are hidden in a smile. What is the matter?”
Tubal clasped his hands together. “I think that someone has mentioned my name to the officers of the Inquisition.”
Stefano felt a sudden chill. Though Jews were openly accepted in Venice, provided that they obeyed the city’s laws concerning their dress, residence and occupations, recanted marranos such as Tubal and himself were harshly punished if they were discovered. The physician hunched inside his costly robe.
“How do you know this to be true?” he whispered.
Tubal gnawed his lower lip. “Yesterday, several Franciscan friars visited my street. They asked my neighbors about me.” He lowered his voice even more. “They asked how often I went to hear Mass.”
Stefano wished he was far away from this unfriendly alleyway. He wished he had never met Tubal. He wished it were yesterday again. “This is indeed unsettling news,” he remarked through his weak smile.
The little man laid his hand on Stefano’s arm. “You must help me and my family, good doctor,” he pleaded.
Stefano shuddered inwardly at Tubal’s touch and his request. Instead of coming to his aid, the doctor wanted to distance himself as quickly as possible from this dangerous person. Though Stefano had remained true to the faith of his fathers, he was also a man of the world. It had taken him half a lifetime to build up a golden reputation here in Venice. He did not wish to have his comfortable life come crashing down around his ears now. Yet Tubal was doubly dangerous since he knew the doctor’s secret heart. Tubal was a weakling. Under torture, he would betray everyone, especially if he held a grudge against Stefano Leonardo.
Stefano lifted his palms to the heavens. “What would you have me do?”
Tubal wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Take my Talmud and hide it away in your house. Hide my gold, as well.” His eyes narrowed. “I have saved over five hundred ducats.”
Stefano choked at the enormous sum of money. “It is foolish to have so much coin under your roof. Why not give your fortune to one of the goldsmiths to keep for you? That is their business and I am sure that their interest rate would be generous.”
Tubal snorted. “Generous to whom? Themselves—not me! No, doctor, I do not trust them with my life savings. No one but you. Will you do it?”
Stefano stroked his beard while he pondered this disagreeable situation. Tubal was right to hide his fortune and the incriminating books from a possible search by the Inquisition officers. On the other hand, the doctor had no intention of being caught in this net. Why compromise the safety of his own fortune as well as his own life for Tubal? A less risky option formed in his mind. Jessica! A good Christian girl who went to daily Mass. Completely above reproach. Beloved by both her neighbors and by her patients high and low. No one would suspect the doctor’s sweet pious daughter of recanting her Catholic faith. Many people considered her practically a saint.
Doctor Leonardo nodded to his companion. “Meet me at nine o’clock tonight at the Campo de San Felice. Bring those things you wish to hide.”
Tubal cast a shrewd look at him. “That is not your address.”
The doctor again nodded. “True enough. It is where my Christian daughter keeps her establishment. She will be our safeguard.”
“Can the wench be trusted?” the man wheezed.
Stefano drew himself up. “Though Jessica is as Catholic as the pope in Rome, she is still my daughter. Blood will prove true. She will do as I say. Now let us part with a cheerful countenance. Until nine this evening.”
Tubal tossed a corner of his dark cloak over his shoulder. “Until the clock strikes nine.” He scurried away from the bustle of the marketplace.
Doctor Leonardo followed Tubal’s retreat with a soft curse.
Jacopo took up his familiar position across the campo from Jessica’s door. He rubbed his nose under his black dottore mask and wished that its leather didn’t itch him so much. With his black cloak wrapped snugly about him and his head covered by its inky hood, Jacopo melded with the shadows around him.
The boy yawned. He was tired of trailing the Englishman day after day. What was the point? The messere knew that Jacopo dogged his steps. In fact, Lord Bardolph had even taken to waving at him. On one cold evening, the Englishman had sent him a mug of spiced wine to ward off the chill of his lonely vigil. If Madonna Cosma knew how poorly her hireling had concealed himself, she would have flayed him alive by now. Across the small square, Lord Bardolph and his black friend, attended by several jovial torchbearers, rapped on Jessica’s door. The whole company were masked and dressed in colorful attire. Jacopo grumbled under his breath. He longed to have a few free hours for his own Carnevale amusements.
The fat dwarf answered their summons with cries of delight and she ushered the lords inside the lighted house while the torchbearers waited in the street. Jacopo rubbed his itching nose again. By the look of things, tonight would be a long one—and cold, as well. The boy hunched against the wall and wished he had brought along his new pet monkey to entertain him.
The door opened again; golden light from a lantern spilled into the campo. Jacopo stifled another yawn. Lord Bardolph led out a young woman who wore a white volto half mask and a full-length black cloak. The blackamoor followed close behind them. The spy straightened up. By Saint Mark’s book, they had flushed out the elusive Signorina Jessica Leonardo after all! Jacopo didn’t think they could have persuaded her to leave her nest—especially after Donna Cosma’s visit this afternoon. He whistled through his teeth. Though he could not see her face, the girl appeared to be comely and her laughter sounded like silver bells. No wonder Donna Cosma was worried!
“¡Volare!” the blackamoor called to the lounging torchbearers. “We have enticed a beautiful dove from her cage, now let us fly away with her!”
Lord Bardolph added, “To the piazza!”
Signorina Jessica laughed again. “I am yours to command, messere.”
The torchbearers fanned themselves around the trio. “To the piazza!” they chorused.
Jacopo slipped further back into the shadows as the merry band passed within ten feet of his hiding place. Lord Bardolph looked over his shoulder. “Ho, young bravo!” he called to Jacopo. “Come join us in our sport. It would be more pleasant than skulking in the corner all night.”
Jessica looked across the empty campo. “To whom do you speak, my lord? I see no one.”
The blackamoor chuckled. “We have a little shadow that follows us. He is somewhere nearby. I can smell him. Do not fear, madonna. That alley cat is harmless,” he added with a laugh.
Jacopo pressed his spine against the wall. The blackamoor’s disdain pricked his ego and compounded his shame at his discovery. The boy in him wished he could accept the Englishman’s invitation to pleasure but the man in him rejected the offer. Donna Cosma would carve him into dog meat if he joined that happy crowd. He stared up at the slice of the night sky that was visible between the two houses where he hid. Tomorrow he would tell Donna Cosma that he had found other employment—then he and his monkey could enjoy a bit of the carnival season before Lent came.
When he looked back into the campo, Jacopo saw his quarry disappear down the Fondementa. He pushed himself away from the wall and stretched his chilled muscles. No need to rush after them. They had made it plain where they were going. Jacopo had just stepped into the square when he saw a short, round man enter the campo from the side street that led to the canal. The newcomer’s furtive haste and the large pouch that he hugged to his chest immediately drew the boy’s interest. Jacopo slipped back into dark alley and watched.
Just as the church bells of San Felice began to toll the hour, a second figure appeared in the square. This man was taller, wore the gown of a physician and had a white beard. He, too, acted in a surreptitious manner, looking over his shoulder several times. He carried an intriguing chest under his arm. Jacopo wet his lips. What sport is this?
As fortune would have it, the two men met each other within earshot of Jacopo’s hiding place. With the African’s words still burning his pride, the boy pulled his stiletto from its sheath at his belt. He was not a whelp to be dismissed with a sneer but a bravo to be feared. Perhaps he could make a little profit on the side—to repay himself for his long hours of watching. A bold, swift strike could make him a very rich man—if that pouch contained coins as he suspected. He heard it clink when the short fellow moved. Flexing his fingers, Jacopo pressed himself against the wall and listened.
The first man greeted the second with a kiss on each cheek. Then they spoke quietly in a foreign language. Whatever it was they said, the meaning was obvious from their demeanor. A stealthy, perhaps unlawful game was afoot. The boy wiped his sweating palms on his cloak.
The short man handed his pouch and several books to the physician who deposited them in the chest. The tall man then murmured something to the other who nodded and scuttled away. The whole mysterious transaction had concluded in less time than it took the church bells to toll the nine strokes. Jacopo tightened his grip on the hilt of his dagger. How easily fate had played into his hand! One man was certainly easier to kill than two, especially since he was burdened with a heavy chest. Jacopo planned to attack after his prey had passed by him. He tensed and waited.
Instead of returning from whence he had come, the physician moved further away from the alley where his death lurked. He crossed the campo with quick strides and stopped in front of Donna Jessica’s house. Jacopo ventured a step or two closer to observe what would happen next. The physician rapped on the blue door, waited for a few moments, then rapped again. Once more, the dwarf answered the summons.
Her eyes widened with surprise when she recognized the visitor then she dropped a bob of a curtsy. “¡Buona sera! Doctor Leonardo,” she greeted him in sour tones. “It is late for you to be abroad.”
“I wish to speak with my daughter,” the physician snapped.
The maid shook her head. “She is not at home.”
“Have her wits slipped askew?” he asked even more sharply. “It is dangerous for her to be out in public.”
Jacopo tucked this little piece of information in the back of his mind. It might be worth his while to investigate this nugget at a later time.
The maid laughed. “Curb your fears, sir. She is accompanied by several friends. They have gone to enjoy the sights and sounds of Carnevale.”
“Wanton gambols!” the father snorted. “Jessica will rue it later, I vow. Well, woman, do not stand there gaping at me! Am I not allowed inside my own house? Do not forget who pays for my daughter’s privacy. Go to, go to!” He tapped the chest. “I have something to give her.”
The maid held out her hands. “I will relieve you of that, sir. I will tell Jessica that—”
“No!” the man almost shouted. “This chest is too heavy for such a snail mite as you to hold. I will put it in her room myself. Stand aside, Sophia. I am in no mood to banter with an ape.”
The little woman did as she was told, but she glared at him in return. “Nor am I, Doctor Leonardo.” She shut the door with a bang behind them.
Jacopo released his pent-up breath. He tried to make sense of the scenes he had just witnessed but could not see a connection between the two men who acted as if they feared their own shadows and the physician declaring that he had a present for his daughter. A few minutes later, the door reopened and the doctor stormed out into the campo. He no longer carried the chest.
“In the future, Sophia, remember who buys your bread,” he warned her. He drew his gown around himself and stalked off in the dark.
Sophia shook her fist at his departing figure before she again shut the door. Jacopo waited for a few more minutes to see if anyone else would come, but the only sign of life in the square was a lean cat that stalked around the rim of the wellhead. Relaxing his shoulders, Jacopo returned his dagger to its sheath. His near attempt at murder left him weak and shaking. He took off his hot mask and mopped his face with a corner of his cloak. When he thought of what he had almost done, his stomach lurched in shame. The blackamoor was right. I am the poorest excuse for a bravo in all of Venice.
Jacopo donned his mask again. Though he had gained nothing for the time being, he had learned two interesting things for possible future profit: that Donna Jessica had a dangerous secret and that a chest of money was now hidden in her room. He promised himself to wait for the right opportunity to steal it. Certainly not now with that miniature she-dragon guarding the house. Pulling his hood lower, Jacopo crossed the square and headed toward the piazza.
Patience is always rewarded, his father had once told him. The boy would bide his time.