The Food Taster

by Peter Elbling

  'Grasp the fork like this,' he said, holding the fork in his left hand. 'Now spear the meat on the platter and carry it to your plate.'

  Everyone immediately stabbed at the bowls of meat. 'Be firm,' I heard Giovanni say.

  'Now,' continued Luigi, 'holding the meat securely on the plate with the fork, and picking up the knife in the right hand, cut off a slice.'

  He cut a small piece of veal to demonstrate, stuck it on a fork, and offered it to me as if I was a dog! I tasted it, pronounced it free of poison, and returned the plate to Federico. Federico immediately stabbed the veal as if there was still life in it and cut it into three slices. 'It is easy,' he boasted.

  Everyone did as they had been instructed. The women giggled and shrieked, 'Blessed Holy Mother! The fork is a gift from heaven. Oh, how could we have lived without it.'

  Septivus, who as usual was talking as he ate, stabbed himself twice in the mouth. The stabbing reminded me of Tommaso and I wondered if he had tampered with the berry torte. All around me guests laughed and joked. Even Miranda! What was she laughing at? Unless it was because she KNEW the berries were poisoned and did not care.

  'My pastry chef,' Federico said, as Tommaso entered, carrying Federico's torte on a golden plate. Federico spooned out some torte, but instead of giving it to me, he gave it to Miranda! Why did he do that? Did he know something was wrong? Should I shout aloud? Throw myself at her? Tear the food from her mouth? I looked at Tommaso. His face was as blank as a stone wall.

  'Your Excellency,' I said, 'should I not try the berries first?'

  'There is no need, is there?' Federico asked, holding the spoon in the air.

  'No, but as I will not be your taster much longer—'

  Miranda calmly took the spoon from Federico and, before I could do anything, swallowed the torte and sighed with pleasure. Tommaso walked out, looking at me with such disgust that I trembled with rage. Actors sang, clowns juggled, musicians played. My shirt was soaking with sweat, my knees would not stop shaking. There was a hole in my stomach. I wanted to die.

  I have just come back to my room. The first rays of dawn are sliding over the mountains. Some of the guests walked into the garden to watch the sunrise but I am wearier than Job and need to sleep. As I crossed the courtyard, Cardinal Giovanni passed me with four of his guards. I bowed and said, 'Buona notte, Cardinal Giovanni.'

  Giovanni stepped in front of me, blocking my path. 'Ugo DiFonte, Duke Federico's food taster.' He looked me up and down as if I was a piece of meat he might wish to buy. 'Tell me Ugo, will you still be Duke Federico's taster after your daughter becomes Duke Federico's wife?'

  'No. I am to have my own taster.'

  'Your own taster?' The little twat turned to his guards. 'Did you hear that? Ugo is going to have his own taster.' The guards smirked and Giovanni turned back to me. 'When will that be?'

  'At the last banquet.'

  'In five days' time?' His eyes bulged from behind his spectacles.

  'Yes.' I could hardly believe it myself.

  'Well, we will see,' he smirked, and strode off without a backward glance.

  What did he mean by that? Who cares what he means. He can think what he likes. He cannot harm me. Not here in Corsoli. This is Federico's court and Federico is marrying my daughter and even if Giovanni is an emissary of the pope and Jesus Christ Himself, he cannot do anything to me here.

  The third day.

  Oi me! Sono fottuto! My life has been overturned! The jaws of hell gape below me and devils grasp at my heels. How can this have happened? I was sitting in my room ... no, no. I must start at the beginning. This morning in the Duomo Santa Caterina, Giovanni gave a sermon in which he talked about rendering to Caesar what was Caesar's and to God what was God's. I was sure Giovanni was talking to me because of the conversation we had last night and this afternoon I knew I was right! As soon as mass was over I came here to write the very words I have just written, when there was a knock at the door.

  ' Un momento!' I called out, because I wanted to hide this manuscript. A voice said if I did not open the door it would be broken down. I was outraged that someone would talk to me like that. Me! A courtier! The father of the bride! In the middle of the wedding! 'I will give whoever it is a good thrashing for disturbing me,' I shouted, as I opened the door. There standing before me were the same four soldiers I had seen with Cardinal Giovanni the night before. The captain said Cardinal Giovanni wanted to see me. I replied that Cardinal Giovanni must have forgotten that my daughter was getting married and that I had many things to do and if Cardinal Giovanni wanted to see me could he please come to my room. The captain warned me that if I did not come immediately I could be thrown in prison. Christ! What could I do?

  Giovanni was bending over his desk writing when I entered. His hair had been cut short and without his hat his head looked like a big pot and his ears handles to pick it up with. I waited for a moment and then said, 'Cardinal Giovanni, if you will pardon me for interrupt—'

  'No, I will not,' he snapped, and went on writing.

  The fool was acting like the pope himself! After a few moments, he put down his quill, sat back in his chair and said, 'Do you know why I am here?'

  He was obviously playing a game, but since I did not know the rules I replied quite innocently, 'Surely, it is to give the pope's blessing to this holy marriage.'

  He said, 'I am here by authority of Pope Clement to investigate anyone who has sinned against the church.'

  'What has that to do with me?' I shrugged.

  He did not answer but continued to look straight at me.

  I said, 'Cardinal Giovanni, I swear by la Santa Madre Vergine, I have never said anything against our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord God, the church, or a saint. Not even the pope!'

  Giovanni picked up a piece of paper from the desk, adjusted his spectacles, and read, 'The Imperial Church of Roma hereby accuses Ugo DiFonte of Corsoli of practicing witchcraft.'

  'Me?' I laughed. 'A witch?'

  'This is a serious charge! The penalty is death!'

  'Cardinal Giovanni, you have the wrong DiFonte! My brother Vittore held sabbats in the stable. He cursed Christ. He made his followers kiss his culo —

  'It would be better if you confessed.'

  'To what?' I replied hotly.

  Someone hit me in the back of my head and I fell to the ground. I was kicked in the ribs, then picked up, and stood in front of Giovanni again as if I was nothing more than a doll. My head was ringing and blood flowed from my mouth for a tooth had come loose.

  'You should control your temper. We have a witness.'

  'I would like to see who it is,' I shouted.

  Cardinal Giovanni nodded to a guard who opened a side door — Jesus in sancto! O my soul! — in stepped the dandy from Milano! 'Perhaps you remember Battista Girolamo,' Giovanni went on. 'He used to be the food taster to the Duke of Savoy. He says he saw you perform witchcraft at a banquet last year given by Francesco Sforza.'

  'He put a spell over a bowl of berries that killed Antonio DeGenoa,' the dandy said slyly.

  'I never killed him—'

  'Quiet! You saw this happen, Battista?'

  'Yes, Cardinal Giovanni.'

  'Had you ever met Ugo DiFonte before?'

  'Yes, Your Excellency, Cardinal Giovanni. The night he arrived a group of us food tasters were drinking and talking about amulets.'

  'What did he say?'

  'He said he did not use any amulets.'

  'What did he use?'

  'He said he used magic.'

  'Magic?'

  'Yes, Cardinal Giovanni, magic!'

  Hell! They were even better rehearsed than the actors from Padua!

  'You may go,' Giovanni smiled. The guard opened the side door. The dandy walked through it but paused in the doorway, turned to me, and drew his hand across his throat.

  'Now what do you say?' asked Giovanni, adjusting his spectacles once more.

  What could I say? If I told him that no one was more su
rprised than I when Onionface had died he would not believe me. If I told him I could not perform magic if my life depended on it he would not believe me. It did not matter what I said. He wanted revenge for the killing of his sister and mother.

  'Cardinal Giovanni, if I could really do magic, why would I have remained a food taster here in Corsoli risking my life twice a day, every day of the week, for all these years? Would I not have gone to Roma or Milano or Venezia and made a fortune? Indeed, if I knew magic why would I be standing here right now?'

  Giovanni's face turned as red as a beet. 'How dare you mock this court,' he shouted. 'You could be beheaded for your insolence. That is all. Until I call you again.'

  The guards marched me back to my room, telling me I was lucky to be alive because Giovanni had ordered other men to prison and some to death on far less evidence. Now here I sit, trembling. Why did Giovanni not put me to death? Or at least in prison? Why is he taunting me? Is he afraid of Federico? Perhaps he is waiting till after the wedding. O merciful God, what shall I do? Where can I go? For the moment I must remain calm. Above all I must not let Giovanni see I am afraid. Oh, why did you have to come now, you little bastard, hunchback sodomite dwarf! Ugo, calm yourself. Courage! Something will come to me.

  Whenever there was something I did not understand in the Bible, such as why God allowed saints to be killed and sinners to live, the abbot Tottorini said that God's ways were mysterious and not to be questioned. The more I thought about this, the more it seemed that what people thought were God's mysteries were really mistakes. When I told this to the abbot he replied angrily, 'God does not make mistakes!'

  'If they are not mistakes, then he must not care,' I answered.

  This made the abbot angrier still. He said God had sacrificed His only Son for the sins of mankind, which showed how much He cared. And because we are His children He watches over all of us.

  'Then His eyes are bad,' I replied. How can He watch over me and also watch over everyone else in Corsoli? As well as everyone in Venezia and Roma and Milano and France and all at the same time? We pray and beg Him to favor us, praising Him when He does and blaming ourselves when He does not. The truth is I do not think He sees us. And if He does, I do not think He cares. I remember the first time I looked down from the palace walls and saw the villagers making their way to market. They appeared no bigger than ants and I could not tell one from the other. Surely that is how we must look to God. Thousands upon thousands of ants, each struggling to overcome the twigs and stones in their lives. But for what? If there is some reason why I must overcome these twigs and stones, why does God not give me a sign? Does He think I am too stupid to understand? I, who have overcome Onionface and my father and Vittore? Does He think I have no more brains than an ant? Why give me a brain at all? I would rather be an ant and not think. Then I would be at peace.

  Truly, the world has gone mad. Guests stand below my window watching the rain — it started earlier today — while just above them I burn in hell. I must speak to Federico. I have served him well. I have saved his life. He is marrying my daughter. He will protect me against Giovanni. He must. It would not look well if the father of the bride was arrested for witchcraft at Federico's wedding.

  *

  I have just returned from Federico's chamber. The guard said Federico was resting and did not wish to be disturbed. I swear if Giovanni locks me up in the same cell as Vittore I will go mad! Now I must prepare for the jousting.

  I have returned from the jousting. Miranda was cheering and laughing as if she did not have a care in the world. I wanted to ask her why, but I did not feel well. The walls of my room sway up and down like a boat at sea. My paper refuses to lie still on the desk even after I threatened to tear it into pieces. Ugo, Ugo, Ugo. U U U U. The quill has sharp claws. Giovanni has claws. Everyone has claws. Even I. I cannot scratch my face unless I am very careful so my face does not see. Someone is standing by the door. They are calling me. They have the mouth of a rat. I shall ignore them because I cannot be seen with a rat. I cannot go to the banquet with a rat. I do not care how many times it calls me, I am not going. I am not . . .

  The fourth day — midafternoon.

  My senses have deserted me! I am mad! It is the afternoon of the fourth day and I am a bowstring pulled to its tautest point. Federico did not go on the hunt — what horse could carry him? — and neither did Giovanni. As we prepared to leave I saw them talking together. What were they talking about? I asked Cecchi but he did not know. The hunt was abandoned because of rain. I am going to see Federico again.

  Early evening.

  Federico was still resting. Why? He never rested before. Perhaps he does not wish to see me. But how would he know why I was coming to see him? I wandered around the palace. The guests were gossiping about Federico marrying a peasant girl and not just taking her as he had done with so many others. ‘I would kill myself,' a woman said. Another man wondered how I could have allowed Miranda to marry the duke, for he would never have agreed to such a match. It is jealousy. I see it in their faces. I hear it in their voices.

  Thunder clapped just now, lightning rent the sky and the rain falls with a vengeance. Some moments ago the actors returned from the Piazza San Giulio. The actress playing the unicorn said if the ground became any muddier Hercules would not be chasing a unicorn but an elephant.

  After Federico refused to see me I went to the kitchen to make sure Luigi was making my favorite little rolls of tame game as he had promised. The game is finely cut, mixed with fat of veal and spices, wrapped in a crust, and baked. Then the yolks of two eggs are beaten together with a little verjuice and dripped gently over four rolls. It was just as well I went, for when I arrived Luigi was not making the rolls, but mixing ground-up breast of chicken with ground almonds and soft bread.

  'We are having biancomangiare instead,' he said, looking at me as if I should have been cleaning out the cesspool. Christ on a cross! Three years ago he did not know pork from chicken and now he thinks he has invented cooking! 'I changed it because after so much feasting the stomach is saturated with food and it is necessary to tease it.'

  'But we have not had that much feasting.'

  'What did we do two nights ago?' he asked indignantly.

  I looked at Tommaso but he pretended not to see me.

  'As a taster you are not acquainted with the many different types of appetite,' Luigi said.

  I, Ugo, the food taster, not acquainted with different types of appetite?

  'The appetite of an empty stomach is not the same as one which has enjoyed a meal.' He added a handful of ginger and sugar, mixing it with the chicken and almonds. 'Once the appetite has been aroused, it is not so curious. It says, "Surprise me."'

  I will surprise you, I thought, taking out my knife. 'Whose idea was this?'

  'Tommaso's.'

  So that was why he had ignored me.

  'I cannot talk now,' he shouted, waving his arms in the air. He was making a chariot and horses out of sugar and marzipan. I wanted to smash it into pieces. He must have sensed this because he stood in front of it. 'What do you want?' he yelled.

  Everyone in the kitchen stared at me. Luigi said, 'You cannot keep coming in here while we have work to do!'

  'I will come in whenever I like!' I shouted.

  I found Miranda, but she would not listen to me either. Now my head hurts and my skin prickles. I have scratched it till it bleeds but it will not stop. Why does it not stop? I must prepare for the banquet.

  Dawn.

  I am barely alive. There is no reason for me to go to hell for I am already

  there. O God in heaven, what are you preparing me for?

  After the banquet, which I can no longer remember for I have aged a thousand years since then, I fell into a deep sleep. I do not know how long I slept, but suddenly I was dreaming of Federico. He was walking along a corridor, his cane in one hand, his sword in the other. He was walking slowly at first, but then faster, down one corridor and along the next. I knew he w
as coming to my room. I knew I had to hide something, but I did not know what it was. I ran around the room, searching under the bed, behind the chairs, all the time knowing that Federico was coming closer and closer. I tore the curtains from the windows, tears streaming down my face, crying for my mother to help me, when all of a sudden I knew what I was looking for. I shot up out of my sleep, sprang to the door Miranda and I shared, and banged on it.

  "Who is it?' she answered.

  'Your father!' I hissed. I could hear the shuffling of feet. 'Open the door! For the love of God, open the door!' The door opened and there stood Miranda and Tommaso, clutching sheets to their nakedness. 'Are you mad? Federico is coming!'

  Miranda said, 'I will have Tommaso's child.'

  'I will tell him we are betrothed,' Tommaso said. They stood there, grains of sand before an onrushing tide.

  'He will kill you both!'

  'Then we will be together in heaven,' Tommaso replied. Oi me! I could hear Federico's three-footed walk in the hallway! Tommaso ran toward the door as if to confront Federico himself. With a cry, I flung Miranda back into her bed and with a strength I did not know I had, pulled Tommaso by the back of his head into my room, closed the door and leaned against it. He tried to pull me away. I put my hands over his mouth and wrestled him to the ground. We heard Miranda scream, the clanking feet of Federico's guard and then Federico's harsh voice, demanding, 'Where is he?'

  Only then did Tommaso emerge from his dream state. I let him go, pointed to the window, and threw myself against the door of Miranda's room as it opened. I was pushed to the ground as the guard strode past me and in the doorway stood Federico as I had pictured him in my dream. 'Who are you?' he roared, his face twisted with rage, his sword at my neck.