‘As soon as he sees the soldiers he’ll give us away,’ Paolo insisted.
‘I have confidence in him.’ Father Benedict smiled at us. ‘There’s love in his heart, and it’s very strong.’
How could the monk smile in this situation? He too would die a most horrible death once it was known that he had sheltered fugitives from the Borgia. The noise on the outer door redoubled. It sounded as though the men in the street were using axes and spears upon the wood.
‘Hold off! I’m coming! I’m coming!’ we heard Ercole shout at them but he did not move any faster.
‘They’ll threaten to kill him and he will speak out.’ Paolo was in despair. ‘Fear is what makes people do what you say.’
‘I would say that the force of love is stronger,’ said Father Benedict. ‘But we haven’t time to indulge in that debate. I must find somewhere to hide all of you. Come with me.’ He took Paolo roughly by the arm and pulled him away. ‘Put away your sword. If you cannot forgive, then now is not the time for your revenge.’
We followed the monk into the hospital. ‘They’ll look in every part of the building. Search every cupboard and storeroom. I thought I might disguise you as patients, but there are four of you and’ – he glanced at Rossana – ‘I fear that you wouldn’t stand much close scrutiny.’
‘Take us to the chapel,’ said Paolo. ‘We’ll go there. The sacred rules of sanctuary will stop them from desecrating holy ground.’
‘It didn’t stop them at Perela,’ Elisabetta reminded him. ‘They caused our mother’s death and then violated us.’
The priest’s eyes flickered over her face and then he looked at me.
‘It is true.’ I confirmed her words. ‘The most vile deeds were done within sight of the tabernacle itself.’
The priest drew in his breath. ‘What brand of mercenary is this? These are vile brigands who pursue children in such a brutal manner.’
‘That’s why I want to fight,’ said Paolo. ‘You should’ve let me try to kill at least one of them, Father.’
‘Is there nowhere then that’s safe for us?’ Elisabetta’s voice trembled.
‘Hush now,’ said the monk. ‘It must be in some other way that by the Grace of God we live or die tonight.’
He lifted a torch from the wall and took us into the mortuary. Down past the place where he and the Sisters of Mercy laid out the corpses and prepared them for burial. Beyond the little room that he had given over to my master to carry out his dissections. At the end of the corridor we descended some stairs. Where the passage ended there was a door. It was shut and barred with an iron rod set in a bracket.
‘Help me here,’ he said.
He and Paolo grasped the iron bar and slid it to one side. Then the monk led us through.
The light from his torch made great shadows of our forms upon the walls and the low arched roof of this last windowless room. There were bodies contained inside, a dozen or so, cramped together on trestles. These corpses were shrouded in sheets, and there was a strong smell of ammonia.
‘What is this place?’ Elisabetta asked in horror.
‘Another mortuary room.’ The priest hesitated. ‘It’s an overflow from the main room that we use.’
‘But why are these dead people kept behind a bolted door?’
‘They are here because’ – the monk hesitated – ‘because they are special cases. We await permission to bury them.’ He went on quickly as he saw that Paolo was also about to question him. ‘Each of you conceal yourselves under a sheet, and lie sideways, close to the corpse that is already there. I think it’s better if you position yourself feet to head. I’ll cover you and then I’ll leave and bolt the door behind me. Your pursuers will almost certainly demand that this door is opened, may even come inside, though I’ll try to dissuade them. Try to lie quietly if they do. If you make any sound we are all doomed.’
A great shudder came from Rossana. She slumped against her sister.
‘I know you can do this,’ Father Benedict said encouragingly. He looked directly at Elisabetta. ‘Tell your sister to be strong. Pray to the Blessed Virgin to protect you.’
I saw that I had to take the lead, else the others would not do as he said. Paolo was still bristling with frustrated anger, the girls were half swooning with fear and revulsion. I dragged a sheet from the corpse at the far wall. It was an older man dressed in the rough garb of the bargemen. ‘Elisabetta,’ I said, ‘show Rossana how this can be done. Close your eyes and let me help you.’
She stared at me.
‘I beg you,’ I whispered. ‘We have very little time.’
She shut her eyes. I scooped her up in my arms and laid her down beside the body of the old man. She made a tiny sound and then bit her lip.
‘Lie on your side. Put your face near to his feet and meld your body against his. You are so lightly made you will make very little outline.’
She did as I said. As she did so she opened her eyes and gazed at me with such trust that I wanted to kiss her. Not as a love token between a man and a woman, more as a brother to reward a sister who had done something brave and good.
I covered her with the sheet. ‘Father Benedict is right,’ I said. ‘No one would know that Elisabetta is there. If we do this we might escape.’
Paolo needed no more encouragement. He uncovered the body next in line and helped Rossana climb up beside the person lying there. She lay down without a murmur and allowed herself to be shrouded up.
‘There’s a child. Here in the corner.’ The monk showed Paolo where a smaller body lay. ‘Place yourself beside this infant. It will mean that there’s less bulk under this sheet.’ He helped Paolo, and then came to me.
I had already found myself a space and clambered onto the trestle. I did not look to see whether it was man, woman or child.
‘There now.’ Father Benedict adjusted my shroud. ‘I must get back to busy myself with some work in the main mortuary. When these men enter the hospital I want it to look as though they have disturbed me at my duties. Do not stir until I return on my own and tell you it’s safe to do so.’
I could hear the slap, slap of the priest’s sandals as he hurried away, then the grinding of hinges and his whisper: ‘Courage, children. May God be with you.’
There was the sound of the heavy bar being dragged back across the door.
Silence and darkness.
We were shut in.
There was no light in the room. I knew that the feet of the dead person beside me were close to my face yet I could see nothing in the dark.
We waited many, many minutes. Then we heard a clamour in the distance, becoming louder. Booted feet on the flagstones in the passageway.
‘Matteo, I am frightened.’ Elisabetta’s whisper croaked from her throat.
It was only later that I realized that she called my name as if I were an older brother.
‘Do not be afraid.’ I strove to keep my voice steady.
‘I’m shaking so much. They will hear me. I will betray everyone.’
I could hear panic rising as fear fastened its hold on her.
‘No, you will not.’ I spoke firmly. ‘Remember what the monk said. Pray to the Virgin. Say your Rosary.’
‘I cannot. My brain won’t work. The words are scattering in my head.’
How could I help her when now fear ran wild inside me too? My own thoughts were racing in disorder like rabbits scattering from a burrow when a ferret is sent in to fetch them out. If we had to defend ourselves, what weapons did we have, Paolo and I? One sword, in the hands of a boy not much older than me, and my dagger, which was of use only in close combat. But if they caught us here they would not bother to engage in any fighting. They would barricade us in and put burning straw at the door to smoke us out, or wait and let us starve. We were trapped.
Outside the door I could hear the monk’s voice and then that of another, more insistent, demanding.
‘Think of something else,’ I told Elisabetta.
‘I cannot.
’
‘You can.’ I searched desperately in my head for some pleasant circumstance to take her attention from what was happening. ‘Remember the time we went together, all of us, to gather the last of the berries on the bushes down at the river at Perela? You and Rossana had been left sewing to do. Paolo and I had the horse brasses to polish and a new saddle to wax. But it was very hot that afternoon, and while the adults rested in siesta we stole away and went to the riverbank. Do you remember?’
‘I think so,’ she whispered.
‘It was one of the last warm days of autumn,’ I went on, ‘and we crept across the stable yard together, away from the keep and out into the fields. You must remember that, surely?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘And we found the spot where you knew the berries grew plentifully, and you and Rossana collected them until your aprons were overflowing. And then we had to eat them, as we could not bring them home for fear of being discovered berrying when we should have been attending to our duties. Our mouths were stained purple and I took a cloth and dipped it in the river and we had to wipe each other’s faces.’
‘I remember.’
‘Think of that now. Only that. Think of nothing else.’
We heard the bar being removed noisily from the door. The priest being deliberately clumsy to give us warning to be quiet.
I hoped that Rossana and Paolo had both been listening to the dialogue between Elisabetta and myself. Paolo especially, who I feared might leap up with his father’s sword in his hand. Thinking of that day in Perela might occupy them and keep them still.
In my own head a memory came to me of Rossana among the blazing berries. Her cloth kerchief had slipped from her head, and her hair, unbound beneath it, became tangled in the brambles. She’d struggled to free herself, only to become more enmeshed. She’d pleaded with me to help her.
I found myself reliving that time: Rossana’s innocent coquetry as she’d laughed with me at her predicament, my confusion at standing so close to a girl, the dazzling brightness of the sun, the warmth in the little valley, the silken feel of her hair among my fingers. It had been just before a festive day, the Virgin’s Birth.
That night I had told the family of the great festival that took place at that time in the cities, the feasting, the processions in the streets, the dancing and side-shows to watch and take part in. Their parents had decided to have their own little Carnival. They’d had a pig slaughtered and we had played games in the courtyard. The girls had dressed up in costume of the region and danced the traditional dances, we had told stories, my master had played the lute and sung, and—
The mortuary door crashed open.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
UNDER THE SHROUD my hand gripped my dagger.
‘What is this place, monk?’
I opened my eyes. Through the cotton sheeting I could see the outline of a man standing in the doorway.
From behind him came Father Benedict’s voice, speaking coolly. ‘As you see. It is a mortuary.’
‘What foul practices do you perform that you keep these cadavers hidden behind a locked door?’
‘You’ve listened to too many tales of witchcraft and necromancy. This is a monastery and a hospital where the brothers tend the sick. There are no foul acts performed within these walls.’
‘Why are these bodies here then, and not with the others?’
‘We await the special arrangements for their burial.’
‘What special arrangements?’
The booted stamp of feet entered the room. My throat constricted. I opened my mouth to ease my breath. The priest coughed.
There was rustling. The man must have pulled the sheet from the corpse nearest the door. ‘This woman has the dress of a peasant, not a noble,’ he declared. ‘There can be no “special arrangement” for her. Why are these people being kept apart? Bodies are supposed to buried within three days of death. That’s the law.’
‘By order of Cesare Borgia himself these bodies are here awaiting burial by volunteer gravediggers.’ Father Benedict’s voice had changed in tone. ‘I advise you to go no further in your examination of these poor unfortunates,’ he said with authority.
‘Why? What have you hidden here, priest?’
‘The room is small. Your view under the tables and beyond is not restricted. This place contains bodies and nothing else.’
‘Come and show me.’
‘I never enter this room unless I have to. I see you are wearing gloves. That is fortunate, as you’ve already almost touched one corpse.’
Now there was a hesitation in the man’s voice. ‘What do you mean? Why do you stand at the door?’
‘This is not a place to linger in.’ The priest spoke very slowly. ‘The last illness of these people was such that I do not wish to breathe the air they lie in any more than I have to.’
‘Their illness? What was it? What did they die of?’
‘They were taken by the scourge of mankind, poor souls,’ said Father Benedict in a very even voice. ‘A terrible death to endure. These are victims of the Plague.’
The man gave a great cry and leaped back. His next words were muffled, as though he had his hand over his mouth.
‘There is Plague here?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. We have been sent this affliction. But by prayers and atonement we can accept our suffering.’
‘Stay back from me, you pestilent priest! You should have informed the authorities.’
‘I did. The city magistrate was notified at once, as is required. But your own commander, Cesare Borgia, ordered that no one else should be told. By his direct order a public pronouncement was forbidden. He did not wish people fleeing the region while he is conducting his campaign. The roads would become full of refugees and he wants them kept clear so that his armies can move swiftly from place to place. We were instructed that any victims must be kept locked in a separate place and buried quietly, in the middle of the night, well outside the city walls. There must be no word of this outbreak to anyone. You would do well to heed his order.’
‘Close over this door at once!’
‘I will be glad to do so.’
The door ground shut. The bar was replaced. We heard the footsteps receding.
By my reckoning it was more than two hours before we again heard the bolt being slid back on the door.
‘That was a good ruse, Father,’ said Paolo appreciatively as the priest took us into the main part of the hospital. ‘To pretend that those people had Plague and so frighten the soldiers away.’
The priest had brought us into a small empty storeroom and closed the door. He stood before us.
‘Paolo,’ he said solemnly, ‘all of you. It was not a trick. I did not lie. The people that you lay with were victims of the Plague.’
Paolo’s face was open-mouthed in horror. Elisabetta grabbed hold of Rossana and held her. ‘Plague victims!’ she said. ‘We were lying with Plague victims!’
‘It was the only place where I thought the soldiers would not search properly. They have rampaged throughout the hospital, emptying cupboards, pushing their spears up chimneys, turning patients from their beds to search underneath. By hiding you there your lives were saved . . . for the moment.’
Paolo put his hands over his face. ‘We escape one death to find another.’
‘Perhaps,’ said the priest quietly. ‘We don’t know exactly how this disease is spread. It may be that the Angel of Death will pass over you and you will be saved, as has happened already. Meanwhile we cannot delay.’ He handed Paolo and me each a small hessian sack. ‘I’ve only a little bread to give you for your journey, because to find you more food would involve someone in the kitchen being aware of your presence. It’s best that Ercole and I remain the only two here who know about you.’
‘Our journey, Father?’ said Elisabetta. ‘You’re sending us away?’
‘You must go at once. When they do not find you in any part of the town they will come back to search ev
erywhere again. This time they will be even more thorough. In any case it’s almost midnight. That’s when the fraternity of charitable men who dig the graves for those who succumb to the Plague arrive to collect the bodies to bury. It’s better that you leave as soon as possible.’
‘But we’ve nowhere to go!’
‘I’m about to tell you where you may go.’
He knelt down, and with his finger he drew a rough map on the earthen floor. ‘Ercole is going to take you away from the hospital by a tunnel that comes out at the river. When he and you part company, go upstream.’
‘Upstream,’ said Paolo. ‘That is back the way we came!’
‘Yes, and you will be all the safer for that. After a mile or so you will branch off. So you will not be retracing your way to Perela. Instead you’ll head into the mountains. It’s one full day’s climb over rough ground to the hill town of Melte, where there is a small convent of cloistered nuns. There you’ll find sanctuary.’
‘Sanctuary?’ Elisabetta repeated the word. ‘If only I could believe that were true.’
‘Do believe it,’ said the priest. ‘Now, pay attention. Ercole can only bring you as far as the river. He must get back here quickly so that everything seems as it should be in the hospital when the gravediggers come, or the soldiers return.’ Father Benedict pointed to the map he had drawn on the floor. ‘Do you know the countryside on the other side of Averno?’
Paolo shook his head.
‘I do,’ I said.
The monk studied me for a moment. I knew he recognized me as the servant of Messer da Vinci but he had not commented openly on this. ‘Very well. I’ll show Matteo the way to this convent. You must memorize my drawing, then I will rub it out. Better not to be carrying maps or letters of any kind. It’s dangerous to carry documents. If they fell into the wrong hands then it would put the hospital at risk. But once you reach Melte you won’t need a letter. The Mother Superior is my sister. Say to her that you come from me and beg shelter from her. She’ll take you in.’
‘Supposing she does not believe us?’ I asked him.
‘My sweet sister would not turn four children away.’
The Medici Seal Page 12
