The Food Taster

by Peter Elbling

  One by one the men and women leaned forward and licked the toad. I have done some things that God will judge me for, like screwing a sheep, but I have never ever licked a toad. After a moment or two, a man stood up and jumped around as if the devil had entered his soul. It was Tommaso! That fool! Then the others rose to their feet stumbling about like newborn calves. They tried to walk, but the space was so small that they all bumped into one another. One woman turned around and around till she fell down, her eyes wide open, her mouth in a twisted smile. Another man raised his arms above his head and cried out. Vittore clapped his hand over his mouth with such force the man sank to the ground and did not speak another word. The woman lying on the ground turned her head and was staring straight at me. She raised her arm and pointed, but no one noticed.

  I do not know how long they stumbled about like this till Vittore, who had turned his back on them, raised his arms in the air, and hissed, ‘I renounce Jesus Christ.'

  ‘I renounce Jesus Christ!' they repeated. Then Vittore said, 'The Madonna is a whore! Christ is a liar. I deny God!'

  Pota! Even if God had not spoken to me, I had never denied Him. I prayed that if He was looking down on us that He would see that although I was here in the stable I was not part of this. Vittore said other blasphemies and each time they repeated his words with more fervor. A woman giggled and sang, 'The Madonna is a whore. The Madonna is a whore.'

  Vittore called out softly, 'Diana, bella Diana. Bring your horse.'

  Was this the Diana the old washerwoman had talked about? I wondered who she was and how she was going to get a horse in there because it was already so crowded.

  Then Vittore asked them if they saw his mighty head. They said they did, but how could they? No one had left and the horses were still on the other side of the straw. They were under his spell!

  'Obey him!' Vittore said and turned around. Jesus in sancto! He was wearing goats' horns on his head! I wanted to laugh, but then he lifted his shirt and showed himself. ' Sarete tutti nudi' he said, and they began to take off their clothes! Suddenly I saw that one of the women was Miranda! I am ashamed to say I could not look away. She was so young, so beautiful. Her breasts small and upturned, her stomach so flat, her thighs fully formed and her buttocks round and full. I was seized with rage. Yet I waited.

  The old washerwoman with sagging breasts and thighs like tree trunks knelt in front of Vittore and kissed his fallo. He turned around and presented his culo to her. She pulled his cheeks apart and gave him the 'Osculum infame.' Vittore turned around and laid his hand on her brow. She moaned and fell to the ground. I could not believe my eyes! Could this be happening here? Here in Duke Federico's stables while the rest of the palace was fast asleep a few yards away? But there was more.

  Tommaso knelt in front of Vittore, kissed his fallo too, and then paid homage to Vittore's culo. Six of them did this and when they had finished they fell on one another and made love like wild beasts. Then it was Miranda's turn and there was no one for her to make love to except Vittore. He put his hand on the back of her head. I had seen enough and no longer cared if he conjured up demons or if he was the devil himself. Shouting the names of God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost, I threw myself down from the straw and ran at Vittore with my knife aiming for his good eye. The others screamed when they saw me, but I was past them before they could stop me. Vittore spat and raised his arm. His eye was completely black. He was the devil! My hand stopped as if some force was pushing against it! Vittore grasped my wrist, but I stabbed him! I stabbed him in the chest!

  We fell on the ground. Other men threw themselves on top of me and I slashed at them with my knife. Someone pulled my clothes, another bit my wrist. The candle must have fallen over for suddenly flames were licking at the wet straw and smoke filled the stable. I caught hold of Miranda, but she fought me with the strength of a man so I was forced to crack her about the face and bang her head into the wall. I threw her over my shoulder. Now the flames were arching toward the roof. The horses — whinnying, bucking, and shrieking with fear — broke from their ties. Everyone was fighting to get past the flames and the horses. The fire shot through the roof, leaped over us, and now we were in hell itself! A man was trampled by a horse in front of me and I tripped over him. Miranda fell out of my arms. Part of the roof collapsed and the burning embers fell on the panicked horses. I pulled Miranda up, knifed another man in my way, I prayed it was Vittore, and staggered out of the stable, imps of flame clinging to my hose and Miranda's hair.

  The air was filled with wailing, the crying of men and women, and the neighing of horses. The hounds were howling and barking, the fire bells chimed, and the great bell of the Duomo Santa Caterina added its frantic voice to the noise. Servants poured out of the palace. I carried Miranda through Emilia's garden to the back entrance of the palazzo and up the stairs to our room. Her eyes were clouded over; she was calling to Diana and singing songs to the devil. I stuffed rags in her mouth, tied her down to the bed, and hurried back to the courtyard where the fire roared, its flames fanned by a black wind.

  Cecchi organized the servants to throw water onto the blaze, but Federico kept forcing them into the stable to rescue his horses. Then just when it appeared that the stable would be destroyed, lightning struck the palace, the thunder rolled, and the rain poured down. The flames hissed and sizzled till at last they shrank and withered into sodden defeat.

  More than half the stable was destroyed as well as ten horses. Their pitiful cries and the smell of their burning flesh lingered for days.

  When guards had not arrested me or Miranda by early morning, I decided to tell Federico what I had seen. He was already awake in his chamber and to my surprise Vittore was there as well. One of his hands was bandaged, but otherwise he appeared unharmed. Even more confusing, Federico was in a good mood.

  'My Lord,' I began, 'permit me to say what a terrible trial you have been through—'

  'Ugo, horses can be replaced. The Jew Piero will pay. Vittore says he was conducting sabbats in the stables.'

  'Piero?'

  'Yes, he is on the rack. He will confess.' I wanted to laugh; Piero conducting sabbats? 'But, I have good news,' Federico went on. 'Vittore said the woman I have been looking for has been living here the whole time.'

  'Here in the palace?' I repeated. Each new pronouncement was crazier than the last. "Who is it?'

  'Your daughter,' Federico smiled, 'Miranda.'

  CHAPTER 27

  'You are not pleased?'

  'Pleased? I am honored. Heaven has blessed me,' I cried.

  'Her moon complements the duke's perfectly,' Vittore smiled. 'I want her to sit at my table tonight,' Federico said.

  'Yes, Your Honor.'

  'Make sure she rests well,' Vittore added.

  I walked back to my room, my head whirling as if I had ingested meadow saffron, belladonna, and henbane all at the same time. Miranda, my daughter, Miranda my child, was to sit at Federico's table. I knew why Vittore had done this. He had promised to find Federico a bride in two months and now those two months were almost up. If he could not have Miranda then he would give her to Federico. But would Federico really take my precious Miranda for his mistress? Surely not. She is too young, I said to myself, but what did that matter to Federico? She was no longer a virgin, but he did not know that, nor would he care. How would Miranda feel? What if she disappointed him or said something rude or screamed or laughed at the wrong time? The man who had laughed at my joke on the way to Milano was still in prison. The whore who had banged her head in Federico's carriage was dead in a ditch for all I knew. A peasant who had sung obscene verses at Carnevale had been beheaded. And what about me? Was I going to have to taste Federico's food while my daughter sat at his table? Surely, Federico would not allow that to happen.

  Miranda had fallen into such a deep sleep that instead of waking her I walked through the palace and listened to the rumors of magic and witchcraft. Two stable boys and the old washerwoman had burned to death. Another b
ody had been burned so badly no one could tell if it was a man or a woman. I passed by the kitchen where Tommaso was baking bread. So he had also escaped. He caught my eye and started to say something, but there were servants everywhere. Instead he followed me down the hallway, whispering, 'Ugo, I must speak with you.' I did not stop to listen. There was nothing he could say that was of interest to me.

  Later in the day, Vittore advised Federico to spare Piero from more torture. 'Vittore does not know how to cure Federico's gout or any of his other diseases,' Cecchi said. I heard that with bleeding fingers, the nails of his right hand had been removed, and, jabbering like a fool, Piero knelt in front of Vittore, kissed the hem of his robe, and swore allegiance to him.

  I wanted to convince Miranda once and for all of Vittore's wickedness, but when she woke she remembered nothing! Niente! She stared at me, her pupils huge and round, as if she did not know me. She chewed on her lips, complaining of a metal taste in her mouth. I poured a basin of water and washed her face.

  "What is that smell?' she asked.

  She was still so young, so innocent. 'Nothing. Do not trouble yourself.'

  'What is it?' she said impatiently, and, pushing my hand away, went to the window.

  'There was a fire in the stable. Some horses were—'

  Her body stiffened. Her memory was wakening. She looked at me fiercely. 'Vittore? I must—'

  'Miranda—'

  She pulled away. 'Is he all right? Where is he?'

  I followed her to the door. 'Forget Vittore.'

  She whirled around. 'Is he dead?'

  Christ on a cross! It was my father all over again!

  She flew at me and beat me with her fists. 'I hate you,' she screamed, 'I hate you.'

  'Vittore does not care about you!' I cried.

  'He is alive then?' And seeing my face, she laughed. 'He is alive!'

  'He sold you,' I said, grasping her arms. She did not understand. 'He said you would make a perfect wife for Federico!'

  Who knows the mind of a woman? In Castiglione's The Courtier, which Septivus sometimes read to Federico, the ideal woman is gracious, knowledgeable, prudent, generous, virtuous, remaining free from gossip, and is beautiful and talented as well. Are they talking about women made of flesh and blood? Did those women work in the fields like Elisabetta until the hour Miranda was born? Did any of them witness the joy of a naked woman turning cartwheels like Agnese? Did any of their women have Helene's courage or Miranda's strength?

  All afternoon Miranda studied her hair in the mirror. It had always been a source of great pride, but because of the fire, the ends were ragged and of different lengths. Here and there were bald patches where an ember had singed her. Something had to be done, but I feared saying anything lest I upset her even more. At last I could not stand it and I said, 'Perhaps you could wear a wig or maybe a scarf the way Bianca—'

  As if to silence me, Miranda took a knife and began hacking away at her hair as if she was possessed by a devil. I tried to stop her and after a struggle she allowed me to wrest the knife away.

  'Are you mad?' I cried. 'You are to sit at Federico's table tonight.'

  She was not upset at all; indeed, she smiled at me as if I was a child and said, 'Tell Lavinia and Beatrice to come here quickly.'

  These were her closest friends, who, when they heard what was going to happen, came at once. They were horrified at the sight of her hair, but Miranda cheerfully said that she had tried to cut it herself, but had made some mistakes and needed their help. They were only too happy to do so and, laughing and giggling, they cut it quite short except for a small curl that hung down over one eye. Then they painted her face and rouged her mouth. As they were so engaged, Miranda cleverly questioned them to see if they knew she had been part of the sabbat -they did not. Beatrice lent her an exquisite blue camora with pictures of colored birds woven into the sleeves. Miranda borrowed a necklace from Isabella and when she laid it against the top of her breasts I would have defied any man in Italy not to want to place his head there.

  In the midst of this, Tommaso came to the door. 'You cut your hair,' he said, unable to hide his surprise.

  Miranda turned from her dressing table. 'You do not like it?'

  'No. Yes, I — I am not used to it,' he stammered. 'Forgive me.'

  'And my dress?' She stood up and turned around for him. Tommaso grew red in the face. He said he had never seen anything so beautiful. But she was not finished. 'What about my shoes?' And as her friends giggled, she stretched her foot toward him, displaying one of her slender ankles. Fearing the poor boy would faint, I asked him why he had come.

  'Luigi wants to know if there are any particular dishes Miranda would like this evening.'

  'Biancomangiare' Miranda replied without hesitation.

  'There is not time enough,' Tommaso said.

  'Hmm . . .' she frowned. 'Then . . . some . . . veal . . .'

  He nodded. 'Sprinkled with salt and fennel?'

  'Yes,' Miranda replied.

  'With marjoram and parsley and herbs,' Lavinia laughed.

  'Yes. Yes, like that,' Miranda said, clapping her hands with delight.

  'And rolled and put on the spit,' Beatrice added.

  Tommaso stood in the middle of the room staring at the floor. 'And for dessert?' he asked.

  Miranda raised her head, showing off her long white neck. 'Cheesecake. And prosciutto.'

  'With the cheesecake?'

  'No,' she said, with disdain. 'Before the cheesecake.'

  Tommaso nodded again and was about to leave when Miranda added, 'With melon.'

  Tommaso stopped. 'Prosciutto with melon?'

  'Yes,' she said. 'With melon,' as if everyone knew that was the way it should be. Then she turned back to the mirror as the girls burst into laughter once again.

  Even though she was ready in time for dinner, Miranda arrived just late enough so that everyone would see her entrance. She apologized to Federico but offered no explanation, sat opposite him and adjusted the front of her camora bringing attention to her breasts as Bianca used to do. Then she smiled at Federico. I had seen her practice that smile in the mirror -- her lips parted slightly, her eyebrows furrowed, and the dimples in her cheeks revealed themselves like two soft pearls.

  Federico beamed. 'A little princess.'

  The dinner continued as all dinners did. Federico was consumed with his food. Every now and then he glanced at Miranda, but did not say anything. The courtiers spoke to one another, but since Federico did not speak to Miranda, nor did they. I had been afraid that she might say something out of turn; now I worried that she might cry out of neglect. However Miranda felt, her face remained calm as if she had attended dinners like this all her life. Then Tommaso served the prosciutto with melon.

  'An excellent combination,' Cecchi said.

  'Yes,' Federico agreed, sucking on his fingers. 'Luigi is a far better cook than Cristoforo ever was,' he said, and called Luigi to the table.

  Miranda's face still did not change. Luigi must have thought something was wrong — that was the only reason the chef was ever called — and, rushing to the table, said, 'Your Excellency, if the prosciutto with melon does not please you I can easily change it. It was not a dish of mine and I—'

  'Whose was it then, Tommaso's?'

  'No, My Lord. Your Illustrious Highness, it would not be seemly to betray one whose beauty cannot compete with her experience -'

  'It was your idea?' Federico asked Miranda.

  She bowed her head modestly. 'Yes, Your Excellency.'

  'Forgive her ignorance,' Luigi chuckled, 'I will prepare—'

  'You will prepare nothing,' said Federico. 'It was excellent. Make some more.'

  For the rest of the meal Miranda was included in the conversation and her opinion asked on every subject. Most of the time she said she had no knowledge of such things, but once she quoted from Dante and another time from Polizian. Septivus had taught her well. She said she preferred the poetry of the people to that of th
e courts.

  'Could you favor us with such a poem?' Federico asked.

  'If it would please the duke.'

  'Yes,' Federico said, 'it would please me.'

  Carefully laying her spoon next to her trencher, Miranda closed her eyes and folded her hands. 'My favorite poem in all the world goes like this.' She cleared her throat and recited.

  Although the sun burns hot above

  I shake and shiver with the chill of love.

  The table was quiet. 'Is that it?' Bernardo laughed.

  'It does not take many words to win a lover's heart,' Miranda replied lightly. 'Just the right ones.'

  'Brava!' Federico applauded, and, pointing to Septivus, added, 'That is true of everything.'

  Miranda blushed, 'Excuse me, honored duke, if I have spoken too much on a subject which women have no place—'

  'No, no, no,' said Federico. 'Please honor us with your presence whenever we dine,' and farted loudly to seal his announcement. Miranda thanked everyone, especially Duke Federico, patted Nero on the head, and left the table. Throughout the meal, she had not glanced even once in Vittore 's direction.

  Federico followed her with his eyes until she had left the room. 'I traveled all the way to Milano to look for a princess,' he said, 'and she has been here the whole time.'

  Afterward, Miranda rushed up to me asking, 'Babbo, what did Duke Federico say?'

  I assured her that he had spoken highly of her and that she had conducted herself well. She was delighted and chitter-chatted with her friends, discussing what she had said, what had been said to her, what she had said back and so on and so on, the telling of which took three times longer than the event itself. When at last they left, she said, 'Babbo, when I become a rich woman in the court, I will take care of you.'