When Miranda was eleven years old her breasts sprang up like young buds and she started her monthly courses. I used to take her to the market, but the boys would not leave her alone, so she often stayed at the Benedictine Convent, where the nuns stroked her hair and fought over who would teach her to read and write and spin wool.
One evening, as the sun was sinking behind the mountain, I was returning from the market with my friends Jacopo and Toro, when we were attacked by bandits. Jacopo fled, but Toro and I could not because we were sharing the same horse. Swearing loudly, Toro jumped down and drove his sword into the belly of one of the bandit's horses, causing it to rear up and fall on its rider. Since my knife was too small to fight against their swords, I threw my purse in the air, shouting, 'Here is the money.' I had tied another purse with most of the ducats to the horse's belly for safekeeping. Two bandits chased after it and I turned around to help Toro. But just then the fourth bandit was pulling his bloody sword from Toro's stomach. The effort made the bandit's hood jerk backward and I saw a thin gaunt face which, even though it had been over ten years since I had seen it, I recognized immediately. Vittore!
I shouted his name and he sprang toward me, but God sent an angel to protect me for I escaped his sword and rode into the forest as fast as I could. Suddenly I feared I might never see Miranda again,' even as I had feared I would not see my mother the day she had fallen sick.
The nuns were at Vespers. The abbot Tottorini said it would be a sin to take Miranda from the convent, but I pushed him to the ground and ran through the convent opening every door until I found Miranda — in his room. Luckily for him, that fat bastard disappeared before I could find him.
'You brought me home to starve me,' Miranda accused me a few weeks later. I had not planned it that way, but my traps were empty, our crops had withered, and our animals were too sick or thin to eat. We did not even have a few lousy chestnuts to make bread! 'Sad is the person who is born poor and unfortunate,' my mother used to say, 'for he must have spit on his hands if he wants to eat and God knows how many times he will fast without a vow.'
At dawn I led Miranda to the woods and told her to imitate a bird. When a finch perched on a tree close by, I caught it in my trap. I told her to do it again, but she shook her head.
I said, 'What difference does it make how we catch them?'
She did not answer.
'If we do not eat we will die,' I shouted at her.
She sang to please me, but the birds heard the tears in her voice and flew away.
I cooked the finch with some greens and told Miranda she could eat if she wanted, but if she was going to weep she had to go outside. She left. Despair overcame me. I thought of going to Corsoli to find work, but I was not a craftsman and I did not belong to a guild. I had no skills. I called Miranda to me. She looked fearfully at me from beneath her dark brown eyebrows. I held her in my arms — she was so thin I could put both my hands around her chest — and told her the story of how I met her mother, until she fell asleep.
I awoke as the sun's first rays were rising over the hills. I walked to our dried-up vegetables and fell on my knees saying, 'Holy Mother, I ask your help not for me, but for my Miranda who will surely die unless she eats soon.'
Before the words were out of my mouth the ground beneath me trembled. I could not see anything, but I could hear branches smashing and the yelping of hunting dogs. Suddenly, a most magnificent stag shot out of the trees, its eyes wild with fear, its black tongue hanging out of its mouth. It came so fast that before I could move, it leaped right over me and disappeared into the oaks on the other side. The next instant the air was filled with bloodthirsty cries and shouts that chilled my heart. I ran back to the hut just as a hundred hounds tore out of the forest, barking and snarling and howling, followed by a huge man on a black horse — Federico Basillione DiVincelli, Duke of Corsoli.
I had only seen Duke Federico once or twice and then from a distance, but that was the safest way to see him. Everyone knew he had killed his father and poisoned his brother Paolo to become duke. Before that he had been a condottiero — he had once slain thirty men single-handedly in battle — and had served princes all over Italy and Germany. It was also known that he had betrayed everyone he served. Because of this he had left Italy and spent five years in Turkey in the service of a sultan. Rumors swirled about him: he always wore silk, he feared the number seven because that was the day on which he had killed his brother, and he had once forced a woman to eat her own child. I did not know if any of this was true or not but Christ! When I saw him face to face, I believed everything I had heard.
To begin with, his features were at war with one another. His face was round like a pie, but his nose, which cut his face in two, was as thin and as sharp as a sword. His eyes were small and fierce like a hawk's, but his bottom lip hung open like a dead fish. He had a thick bull neck but small hands.
But it was not just the way he looked that frightened me. I have seen stranger-looking men. There is a miller not far from Gubbio who has a third ear growing under his right one and a woman in Corsoli who has no nose. No, it was the arrogant way Duke Federico rode across my farm, as if not just the land but the very air itself belonged to him.
Do not ask me how, but the duke's horse nearly impaled himself on one of my bean stakes and reared so fiercely that Federico almost fell off.
He drew his sword, cursing and yelling, and hacked the few shriveled beans I had left into a thousand pieces. Then he looked up and saw me standing in the doorway of my hut.
'Avanzarsi!' he shouted, his voice like two knives scraping together.
Sono fottuto, I thought, I am as good as dead. I whispered to Miranda, 'Do not come out till after they have gone,' and then I walked across my dusty, trampled plot to the duke. By this time the other hunters — there must have been a dozen or so — had ridden up and they sat on their prancing horses, in their dark green hunting jackets and big black boots, staring down their noses at me. The dogs bared their teeth and barked as I walked past them. A huge mastiff wearing a ruby-studded collar leaped up and would have bitten me if Duke Federico had not shouted, 'Nero!'
I knelt in front of the duke, but as his sword was in his hand I decided it was better not to bow my head.
'Who told you to put your farm in the middle of my hunt?' Duke Federico demanded.
'No one, Your Honor. Begging a thousand pardons—'
'I lost a stag because of you,' Federico said, and raised the sword above his head. I heard a scream and Miranda came running out of our hut and threw herself about my neck. Since the duke had served with the Turks, I knew he would not think twice about killing children, so I tore her arms from me and shouted, 'Go away! Go away!'
A hunter with a long gray beard and a sad face said, 'He could be useful.'
'Useful?' Federico asked. 'How?'
'He could take Luca's place, Your Excellency.'
'Yes,' I said, rising to my feet. 'I will take Luca's place.'
Federico's eyes opened wide and he laughed in a high shrill voice. The hunters immediately joined in, while I stood there, Federico's sword poised above me, Miranda's arms around my waist, thinking that must have been God speaking since I did not know what I was talking about! 'Take him,' Federico said, and looking at Miranda, he added, 'And take her, too.'
CHAPTER 5
Since the hunter with the long gray beard sat Miranda in front of him on his horse, I did not mind running uphill with a rope tied around my neck for several hours. Each moment I stayed alive was a gift from God. He had performed a miracle. I was going to take Luca's place. As I have written, I often went to Corsoli for market, but this time I saw things I had not noticed before or did not remember: the huge, gray stone wall of the West Gate, the houses huddled together along the streets winding their way to the top of the city, the sound of horses' hooves ringing on the cobblestones. We rode through the Piazza Del Vedura with its splashing fountain, through the Piazza San Giulio, and more winding streets, and th
en up the Weeping Steps to the Palazzo Fizzi. The palace stood on our right and, facing us across the piazza, the Duomo Santa Caterina with its beautiful golden Madonna above the door, to whom I whispered a prayer for Miranda's safety.
From the outside, the Palazzo Fizzi looked like a castle, but the inner courtyard was lined on three sides with columns and arches. That is what little I could see of it. Christ on a cross! It was as if the usual market had been moved inside. There was food everywhere! More food than I had ever seen in my whole life. Here, women were tending to bubbling cauldrons and roasting spits; over there young girls sorted baskets of fruits and vegetables; and in the middle a group of men were carving up animal carcasses.
'What saint's day is this?' I asked a hunter. He said San Michele and the duke's birthday and then cuffed me on the head for not knowing. Pota! How was I to supposed know? There had been so many new saints in the past few years that I did not even know there was a San Michele.
We had just reached the stables when two soldiers dragged a man in front of Duke Federico.
'Did he confess?' The duke roared.
The soldiers nodded. But the man sobbed, 'Your Excellency, it is not so.'
The duke swung down from his horse and told the man to stick out his tongue. The courtyard had become silent, and glancing about me I saw that every window had filled with faces. The man slowly, timidly stuck out his tongue. Duke Federico gripped it in his left hand, pulled his dagger with his right, sliced it off, and threw it to Nero.
Blood shot out of the man's mouth and onto Duke Federico's boots. Duke Federico turned to the other hunters. 'First, he lies to me, then he bloodies my boots.'
The man wailed piteously, his hands reaching to Nero, who, having eaten his tongue, was now busily lapping up his blood. Federico kicked the man. 'Be quiet,' he yelled and walked away.
But the man could not be quiet. As if they sympathized with his sorrow, the cauldrons, the spits, the prancing horses, and barking dogs all stilled so that his cries bounced off them and off the walls of the palazzo. Federico stopped, his back to the man.
I muttered, 'Please God, make him be still.'
But the man's good sense was captive to his terror. Tears streamed down his face, blood poured from his mouth, and agonized sobs continued to burst from his lips. Federico pulled his sword and, without looking, whirled about and stabbed the man through the back so that the point of his sword went right through his heart and came out blood red on the other side. All the hunters applauded. I felt Miranda's body stiffen and I pressed her face into me so she would not scream. A curly-haired youth — who I had noticed was staring at Miranda — nodded his head as if to say I had acted wisely.
Duke Federico pulled his sword from the man's back, wiped it on his body, and strode into the palace. The same soldiers who had brought the man out now dragged his body to the wall at the back of the courtyard and threw it down to the valley below. I could feel it bouncing off the cliffs, hear the bones crunching on its way to the bottom. In another moment the servants were back at work as if nothing had happened, but as we entered the palace I felt a great wind of hatred snap at the back of my neck.
Miranda and I were locked in the tower on the other side of the palace. The cell had iron doors with large locks, a tiny window near the ceiling, and a few wisps of soiled straw.
'Where are we, babbo?' Miranda whispered. She was still trembling from what she had seen.
'In Duke Federico's palace.'
'But this is not the palace.'
'We are just here because they are preparing a grand room with beds and servants for each of us,' I said as gaily as I could.
'But why?'
'Why? Because I am to take Luca's place. Did you not hear the man?'
She thought for a moment and then said, 'But who is Luca?'
I did not know and when I did not answer I feared she would start weeping. I gathered her to me and looking in those soft dark eyes I promised her that God had not made us only to abandon us. I told her to recite all the prayers she had been taught, and while she did that I asked God if perhaps He had not mistaken us for someone else, and that if He had, could He not correct His mistake before it was too late.
Eventually, we ran out of prayers and so we huddled together in the corner of the cell and became so still that all I could hear was the beating of our hearts and at one moment I swear they stopped too.
'Please,' I begged the guards when they came to take me away, 'do not leave my daughter alone here.'
A guard said, 'We will do whatever we want.' But the captain, who had a good heart said, 'I have a daughter, too. I will take her upstairs.'
I was led to a room with a large tub of sweet-smelling water and told to scrub myself and wash my hair. Other servants hurried by preparing for the banquet. The curly-haired youth passed by carrying a basket of apples. 'Hey!' I called out, 'Where's Luca?' but he ignored me. The gray-bearded hunter looked in and said to the servants, 'Make sure his hands are clean.' The stupid idiots scrubbed my hands till they were raw and would have drawn blood had I not threatened to pull them into the tub with me. I was dried off and my hair brushed. Then I was shaved and given a pair of red hose, a white shirt, a jerkin, and a pair of shoes. When I had dressed, the servants held a mirror in front of me. They laughed, saying, 'He does not recognize himself.'
They were almost right. I recognized myself not because I knew what I looked like, but because I looked so much like my mother. My hair was straight like hers, I had her almond eyes, the left one slightly larger than the right. I do not remember what my nostrils looked like. Miranda says they are fleshy, but only my mother could have known if they were that way when I was born or if they became that way because of what I do. And yet, I was not that different from the men around me, thinner certainly, but no bigger or smaller. And so from appearances only, I did not know why I had been allowed to take Luca's place. 'Whose clothes are these?' I asked.
'Luca's,' the servants replied, and told me angrily I had no business asking questions.
Except for the shoes, which fit me perfectly, Luca was bigger than me in every way. I was lost in his jerkin, the sleeves of the shirt were too long and so were the hose. Despite this I was pleased. It was still better than my shift. A guard took me to Miranda who was now in a pleasant room overlooking a garden of flowers.
'Babbo,' she gasped, 'you look like a prince!'
'This Luca must have been somebody,' I said. 'Who knows, perhaps he has a daughter. Then you will get some new clothes too.'
The sun had long stopped shining when the guards came for me again. I kissed Miranda and told her I loved her and to trust in God. I was led upstairs along silent stone hallways lit with fiery sconces. I heard noises followed by smells of food, both of them growing stronger and stronger till we turned a corner and then, O blessed saints! What a sight! A corridor crowded with servants, all handsomely dressed in red and white, holding platters of the very food I had seen earlier, but now cooked and roasted and boiled and stewed and fried in a hundred different ways.
In front of me, servants held more platters and upon each one was a swan with a silver crown on its head, its eyes so bright, its plumage so alive, that I said to myself — These are the best-trained birds in all of Italy. Holy Mother! What an innocent I was! They were not alive at all, but as I later found out, each one had been flayed so carefully that the feathers remained on the skin. Then after the insides were removed and the stomach stuffed with egg whites and finely chopped meats, the birds were roasted to perfection. Then the feathers, the feet, and the beak were cleverly gilded back on with saffron-colored paste. A miracle all of its own!
More servants carried aloft spit-roasted legs of goat, tender slices of veal, quail with eggplants, and still more platters of fish covered in parsley and dill. Oi me! I felt weak. The smells invaded my nose, they captured my brain, they seduced my stomach. Years of hunger which had become part of my flesh, pangs of starvation which had burned into my bones awakened with so
great a cry that I had to clutch the wall or I would have thrown myself at a servant who was carrying a leg of mutton.
A short fierce man with bushy eyebrows and a goiter by his left ear angrily pushed past me and ran from one dish to another sniffing, tasting, and stirring. This was Cristoforo, the chief cook at that time. Then came the whistling of pipes, the beating of drums followed by laughter and barking and the frantic bleating of a sheep! The bleating stopped and a great roar rang through the halls.
The curly-haired youth walked by with a bowl filled with lettuce. 'You saw Luca,' he said. 'He was the one who had his tongue cut out.' I thought I would faint. My miracle had turned into a disaster. When he passed again I grabbed his arm. 'But why?'
'For trying to poison Federico. He was the food taster.'
'The food taster!' And I was taking his place! I wanted to rip my clothes off, jump through a window, and run until I reached my farm. But there were guards everywhere and now someone was shouting, 'Adesso! We go. Now!' Trumpets blared and then we were marching toward the great hall and I was fourth in the line!
O my soul. That morning I thought I was at Death's door and now I was entering paradise. The smell of orris and rosemary was everywhere. Colorful banners and beautiful tapestries hung from the walls. There were long tables covered in white tablecloths and vases of flowers arranged so artfully as to make nature herself jealous. Seated at the tables were guests dressed in the finest silks and linens and velvets all trimmed with beaten gold. Jewels of every kind hung from necks and wrists, and sparkled against snow-white bosoms. Musicians played joyfully. Dogs rose from under the tables to watch us. A dwarf, covered in sweat, sat on top of a dead sheep. We stared straight ahead, our heads held high, although I was squeezing the cheeks of my culo together because of what I had just been told.
By this time we had reached Duke Federico's table at the far end of the hall. Dressed in a robe of red ermine with puffed sleeves, the duke was leaning back in an enormous chair watching us with his little beady eyes. A gold medallion with his face engraved upon it lay upon his chest. A servant placed the platter with the largest swan in front of him. The guests stopped their chatter. Nero yawned at the duke's feet. Cristoforo, the cook, stepped forward, a long knife in his right hand and a short spear with two points in the other. Squinting his eyes, he studied the swan, took a breath, and, stabbing it with the spear, lifted it into the air to the height of his chest. Then, first touching the bird with his knife to measure his aim, he cut six perfect slices off the right breast, zip, zip, zip, all while the swan was held by the spear and all so neatly that the pieces fell onto the duke's plate in one row as if they had been placed there by hand. 'Stupendo! Meraviglioso!' everyone shouted. Cristoforo bowed. Someone pushed me forward so that I was standing opposite Federico, the six slices of reddish brown meat wallowing in their own juices between us. Then Cristoforo picked up the platter and handing me a knife, said, 'Taste it.'
The Food Taster Page 2
