by Debbie Rix
‘I cannot be sure, but there are sufficient signs here for alarm. He should be removed now.’
‘What are you saying?’ shouted Maria, standing between her brother and the two men.
‘You will not take my brother anywhere. He is perfectly well. He just has a mild skin condition.’
‘We have had the plague here for hundreds of years, Signorina. We know the signs. We had an outbreak just six years ago. You have recently returned from a plague area. Your own mother and family died of the disease. We have rules here in Venice that have enabled us to limit the spread of this disease for half a century. Your brother will be sent to the Lazzaretto Vecchio. If he survives for 40 days, he will then be moved to the Lazzaretto Nuovo to recover. He must take all his personal belongings with him. This house must be evacuated and all your goods must be quarantined at the Lazzaretto Nuovo, where they will be aired each day to ensure that any trace of the illness is removed. How many of you are in the house?’
‘Myself, my brother, and our three servants.’
‘You must all leave. I suggest you go and stay with friends or relations outside of Venice.’
‘I have no relations or friends here – we have been brought up abroad.’
‘Then you must come with us and must stay at the Lazzaretto Nuovo until you can be reunited with your brother.’
The rest of the day was a blur. Maria, distraught but endeavouring to be strong, begged the two officials not to separate her from her brother, but they were adamant that the rules could not be broken. The doctor cursorily examined Alfreda, Bella and Andrea and declared that they appeared to be disease-free.
‘They may leave and go outside the city and stay with relatives, if they are able,’ he declared at last. ‘Otherwise they must come to the island with you.’
Bella began to sob. ‘I will stay with you mistress. It is my duty,’ she said bravely.
‘No, Bella. You, Alfreda and Andrea must all go elsewhere. Daniele and I will be fine. We shall all be reunited, I am sure of it.’
‘I will come with you,’ said Andrea.
‘No, Andrea; that is not necessary,’ said Maria.
‘Like you, I have no one outside Venice who can take me in,’ he persisted. ‘Besides, it will be my honour to come with you. I will protect you.’
The tall man, irritated by these protracted arrangements, sighed deeply. ‘Well make your decisions quickly. You and your brother and this young man must go now. Your staff must pack up all your goods; they will be sent on after you, then they must leave. The house will be inspected and closed up once they have gone.’
‘Please,’ said Maria desperately, ‘I must do something first. May I at least write to my father and explain what has happened?’
‘Yes, very well. But be quick about it,’ said the taller of the two men.
Maria rushed to Niccolò’s study, where she wrote a note to her father.
* * *
My dearest Papa,
Something terrible has happened. Men have come to the house and have accused Daniele of having the plague. It is not true – but they believe it to be so. He and I are to be taken to an island – perhaps the island we saw as we arrived here that first day; do you remember? Oh, beloved father, please help us. Bella and Alfreda are to return to their homes in the country. But Andrea insists on coming with me. Papa, I shall take the vase, to help us. Do not be angry with me. Please rescue us, dearest father.
Your loving daughter, Maria.
* * *
Maria sealed the letter with wax and replaced it in the box. This time, she was careful to lock it, and hid the key at the back of a drawer of her father’s writing table. It was pointless, really, given that all their goods were to be removed. She stood at his desk, and opened the large drawer in the centre where her father kept a cache of money. She took it all and stashed it in her pocket. She might need it for bribes on the island. Looking momentarily out of the window, she caught sight of Polisena working in the garden. She was picking artichokes and putting them into a large basket. Maria opened the casement and leant out.
‘Polisena,’ she called down, for once not caring if the older nuns heard her. ‘Polisena…’
The nun looked up and ran across the garden to the window. ‘Maria, I cannot be long.’
‘I know. I’m sorry, but I have some terrible news. Please, will you find a way to tell Peter for me? I am to be taken with Daniele to the plague island.’
Polisena recoiled visibly, a look of horror on her face. ‘Oh no!’ she cried. The nuns were familiar with the hospital islands. Even those who were not directly involved in the care of the sick understood how dangerous they were.
‘But you are not unwell, are you?’ she asked.
‘No, and neither is Daniele; it is a mistake, but we are powerless. I have written to my father, but please tell Peter. I do not wish him to think I do not care – that I have just disappeared. Tell him… Tell him that I love him.’
‘I will tell him. And I will pray for you both Maria – with all my heart.’
Maria heard footsteps outside the study door.
‘Hurry in there; time is running out,’ the man spoke gruffly.
‘I’m coming,’ she called out. ‘Just one moment, please.’
She crossed over to the shelf where her father kept the Ming vase. The dragon’s blue eyes stared back at her as if to say, ‘I will keep you safe. The dragon will protect you.’ She took it down carefully, feeling it cool and comforting beneath her trembling fingers, and wrapped it in a rug that her father kept on the back of his chair. She took it to her bedchamber, where Bella was rapidly packing some clothes into a bag.
‘Here, Bella – put the vase into the bag. Hide it under my clothes.’
The girl did as she was told, and tearfully bid farewell to Maria.
Chapter Nine
Poveglia
‘The Lazzaretto Vecchio seemed like Hell itself. From every side there came foul odours, indeed a stench that none could endure; groans and sighs were heard without ceasing; and at all hours clouds of smoke from the burning of corpses were seen to rise far into the air. Some who miraculously returned from that place alive reported, among other things, that at the height of that great influx of infected people there were three and four of them to a bed. Since a great number of servants had died and there was no one to take care of them, they had to get themselves up to take food and attend to other things. Nobody did anything but lift the dead from the beds and throw them into the pits… And many, driven to frenzy by the disease, especially at night, leapt from their beds, and, shouting with fearful voices of damned souls, went here and there, colliding with one another, and suddenly falling to the ground dead. Some who rushed in frenzy out of the wards threw themselves into the water, or ran madly through the gardens, and were then found dead among the thorn bushes, all covered with blood.’
* * *
From an account of the plague epidemic of 1575-7 by a Venetian notary, Rocco Benedetti, 1630
* * *
As the small boat set off from the pier at San Marco, Maria looked back at the beautiful Piazza, rose-gold, apricot and pink in the early evening light; she made a silent promise to herself. ‘We will survive, and we will see this place again.’ She clung tightly to Daniele’s hand. They sat in the prow of the boat and gazed towards the city, their backs to the tiny island of Poveglia, somewhere out there, unknown, threatening in the lagoon. They could not bring themselves to face it; not yet. Gradually the city transformed into a thin sliver hovering on the horizon; the sea became choppy and the boatman struggled to hold the boat steady. On any other day Daniele would have leapt up cheerfully to help the man, delighted to be able to demonstrate his strength, grateful for the exercise. But he sat, paralysed with fear at what was unfolding.
Andrea sat opposite the pair, looking towards their destination. He too felt fear, but it was more of an anxiety of anticipation, mixed with a curious excitement. Would his plan work? Would Maria be grat
eful to him for his loyalty? Would she, could she, be made to love him?
The journey took longer than they had expected; the island was several miles out into the lagoon, beyond Malamocco. The sea became rougher as they travelled on; the boat rocked and bucked as the billowing water broke over the bow, leaving a fine sticky film of salty dampness on the passengers’ clothing. Maria and Daniele began to feel nauseous.
‘I feel sick,’ said Daniele to his sister.
‘I know,’ she said helplessly. ‘Try to take a deep breath of air.’
As she attempted to breathe through the nausea, Daniele leant over the side of the boat and vomited. He tasted fear mixed with the salt of the sea, bile and bitterness. His mind was numb. He could not understand how such a terrible mistake had been made. He knew he did not have the plague. He had watched as his mother, brother and sister had suffered with it, and knew what they went through as they died. He felt sure that he did not have this terrible illness. Somehow this nightmare must come to an end. He could not, surely, be taken to this dreadful island and left to die.
Maria clutched his hand in hers and spoke gently to him throughout the journey. ‘You will be all right, little brother. You are strong. Remember to do as Papa did and cover your mouth at all times. Here, let me show you. Take the end of your turban like this and tie it across your face, as Papa did. I asked Bella to put two clean lengths of cloth in your bag. Change them often and try to find some way of washing them. Do not breathe the air of another person if they are unwell. Do not share food with anyone. Do you understand? Alfreda packed some food in your bag. Eat that. Do not eat anything they give you. Oh my dearest, I would do anything to be with you and protect you.’
Daniele sat mute, listening and yet unable to hear. He began to weep, silently.
Maria turned to the boatman. ‘You – boatman. Do you know where each of us is to be taken?’
The boatman took his eyes off the horizon for a second and took in the beautiful girl, her blue eyes almost a match for the incongruously clear blue sky above.
‘Two of you for the Nuovo, one for the Vecchio,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘The lad, there – he’s for the Vecchio.’
Daniele’s weeping turned to sobbing.
‘My brother… He is not strong. I would like to go with him, to look after him.’
‘You’ll not be wanting to do that,’ said the boatman, keeping his eyes steadfastly on the sea ahead. ‘You’re to go to the Nuovo with this other here.’
‘There has been a change of plan. It cannot matter to you where I go. It is my choice. I wish to go with my brother.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ said the boatman. ‘My orders is to take two of you to the Nuovo.’
Maria reached into her pocket and removed six ducats; it was more than six months’ wages to the boatman. ‘Here take this; does that make it easier to forget your orders?’
The boatman looked at the money suspiciously. Maria laid the coins carefully at his feet in case he was fearful of touching her hand.
He picked them up and slipped them beneath his cape, revealing a dagger in his belt. He was clearly under orders not to let them escape.
‘Two for the Vecchio then,’ was all he said.
Andrea, on hearing this exchange, was in a blind panic. This was a disaster. This was not part of the plan. Maria must stay with him on the other island, where there was no illness. Daniele alone must be taken to the plague island. His mind was struggling with how to deal with this development. Finally he said, ‘Maria… I do not think this wise.’ He spoke quietly, his voice almost drowned out by the wind. ‘The boatman might take you, but surely they will not let you stay there. You are to go to the other island with me. Once Daniele is free of the disease he will be sent to join us. That is the plan.’
Maria stared at Andrea. ‘Plan? What do you mean?’
‘Oh, well that’s what the doctor told us at the house. That is what he said must happen.’
‘Well, I do not care what the doctor said. I do not believe he was even a doctor. I intend to stay with my brother. That is my duty; to protect him. You must do as you see fit, Andrea.’
‘But Maria… You might catch the illness. Surely you will not take that risk?’
‘My brother might catch the illness. You know as well as I that there is nothing wrong with him. This is all a terrible mistake. If he must take the risk, then so will I. I would do anything to protect my brother,’ she said firmly.
Daniele gazed at her bewildered. ‘But Maria, Andrea is right. Please, remain on the other island and protect yourself. I could not bear for you to get ill. Please.’
‘Cara, did our father desert our mother in her last hour? Did he leave Magdalena and Dario? No, he was with them to the end. But remember this: he took precautions and survived. And so will I, and so will you.’ She held Daniel’s face between her hands and kissed his forehead.
Andrea knew that he should offer to stay with the pair. His plan depended on Maria understanding how much he cared for her. But when faced with the prospect of almost certain death, his courage faltered. He sat silently, staring out to sea, nausea rising in his throat, as the realisation of what he had set in motion enveloped him like a dark, terrible storm.
The boatman steered the boat expertly towards the island. The sun shone brightly and the hospital and its neighbouring church glowed rose-red against the sparkling blue sky. The gardens of the house were wild and unkempt, but Maria took some comfort that there would be berries to eat there perhaps, or a shady corner where she and Daniele might shelter. But as they drew closer, she saw that the garden was, in fact, just a tangle of thorny bushes and scrubland.
The boatman was paid well to transport patients to Poveglia. However, he would not risk touching his passengers, and so could not help them from the boat. But he was not a cruel man and took care to bring his boat up alongside the stone jetty and threw a rope fore and aft to hold the boat steady.
Andrea, filled now with a mixture of fear and remorse, was the first to speak. ‘Is this it? The Lazzaretto Vecchio?’
‘It is.’
‘And the Lazzaretto Nuovo?’
‘Over there. It is the smaller island of the two. I shall take you there once these two have been left here.’
Andrea unloaded the bags onto the jetty for Maria and Daniele, all the while agonising as to how to proceed. To stay, or go? He felt sick with indecision, appalled at the prospect of remaining in this hellhole, but equally distraught at the missed opportunity of convincing Maria of his undying love. Maria stepped gracefully off the boat first, climbing determinedly up the stone steps and onto the jetty. She got to the top and held her hand out to Daniele.
‘Come, brother. Come with me.’ He followed her obediently, in a daze, still struggling to understand how they had come to this.
As the two stood on the jetty, their bags at their feet, she looked down at Andrea.
‘Well, are you coming? Or going?’
She had sensed his despair as they travelled from the city and was perplexed by it. There was no need for him to remain with them.
‘I… I…’
‘Andrea – go the Nuovo. With luck we will see you there in forty days. Maybe you can get word to Papa; that is the best way you can serve us now.’
And with that, the boatman released the ropes and pushed off from the jetty with his oar. The boat floated round in front of the main building. Andrea looked back at the pair as they picked up their bags and walked the twenty yards towards the studded oak door of the hospital. Maria stood erect, her brother weeping slightly. She put her arms around him and he saw her say something to the boy, but their voices were drowned out by the wind. Andrea held his hand up to wave, but Maria was not looking in his direction. She was gazing up at the hospital. He saw her cross herself, and within minutes she was out of sight as the boatman steered their boat round the side of the island and out into the open sea towards the smaller island that housed the Lazzaretto Nuovo.
&nbs
p; Chapter Ten
Niccolò meets Peter
Niccolò received Maria’s letter six days after she had sent it. He had been in Florence for over five weeks, and his work with the scholar Poggio Bracciolini was nearing completion. He had dictated a long and thorough memoir – although Bracciolini chose neither to enquire about, nor record Niccolò’s perceptions of the places he had visited, nor his motivation. He was interested solely in the facts: the countries he had visited; the length of rivers; the animals he had seen; the customs he had witnessed. The memoir would be published under the title ‘Historia de Varietate Fortunae’ (A History on the Vicissitudes of Fortune) and dedicated to Pope Nicholas V.
Later, this work would be the inspiration for the Genoese map maker Fra Mauro, who depicted the old world as a beautiful ovoid shape, much like an eye, who took many of the location names and descriptions from dei Conti’s account, describing him as ‘a trustworthy source’.
Referred to by subsequent writers as ‘The Man from Cathay’, dei Conti wrote of the vast Chinese junks that were two thousand tons, with five sails and masts, and three decks separated into different compartments. He impressed with tales of the beauty and industry of the people of further India, and of the marble bridges that straddled their rivers and their great wealth from gold, silver, gems and spices. He suggested that the ‘Latins’ should visit this country and experience for themselves the impressive nature of their philosophy, astrology and art.
‘Civility increases the more one moves inwards,’ he wrote, ‘the inhabitants of the further India being, by repute, most polite, wealthy, humane and refined.’
When he read Maria’s letter he was filled with dread. He went at once to visit Bracciolini. ‘I must leave Florence, my friend,’ he said. ‘I have troubles at home and must travel to Venice to make arrangements. God willing, I shall return and we shall continue our work.’
