While waiting for the arrival of the councillors, Francis’s gaze roved slowly over the spectators on the opposite side of the room. A clutch of gaudily dressed women quickly attracted the appreciative attention of every male in the hall. Venice’s celebrated courtesans had turned out en masse to gloat at the misfortune of a woman not one of their own. Cosma di Luna sat in the center of the colorful coterie. Though she, too, was masked like the rest, Francis recognized her instantly. She apparently had not seen him. Attended by Nerissa, she fanned herself, gossiped with her friends and ate sweetmeats from a small inlaid box in her lap. Francis swore under his breath in disgust.
“Grown tired of our Cosma?” Niccolo asked in a cheerful voice.
“Sì,” Francis replied with a casual shrug. “I seek fresher faces, merrier company.”
Niccolo jabbed him in his ribs with his elbow. “Come sup with me this evening. I have discovered the most delectable little Venus, new to the city—Ah! It begins!”
A richly garbed herald strode to the open center of the room. With his thick staff of office he rapped on the polished floor three times to signal the start of the proceedings. The hall instantly fell silent. The door nearest the dais opened and the prisoner was led in by four guards. Everyone craned their necks to get a better view of the accused witch. Some stood on the rear benches. Being taller than most, Francis could see all too well. The sight of Jessica stabbed him to the core of his heart.
After four days’ imprisonment, her pretty little gypsy costume was filthy. Her unbound hair hung over her shoulders and cascaded down her back giving her a certain wild beauty.
“¡Che bella!” Niccolo remarked in Francis’s ear. “But I wonder why she is masked?”
Francis did not bother to give him an answer. For Jessica’s sweet sake he was glad that her mysterious disfigurement would not be put on display for the titillation of this rabble. Though she moved slowly toward the chair in the center of the floor, she held her head up proudly. Before seating herself she looked around the chamber. She froze when she spied Francis.
Though a wide gulf separated them, he felt the fire that he saw in her eyes. Her silent accusation scorched him, though why she had called him her betrayer he still did not understand. At this moment of extreme jeopardy, she made it plain to Francis that she hated him. He touched two fingers to his lips, kissed them, and pointed them to her. He did not care who else witnessed his demonstration of loyalty and love.
Jessica shivered when she saw his winged kiss. Her lips softened a fraction, then she turned away. Before she could take her seat, the herald rapped his staff again.
“All rise and give honor to His Most Serene Highness, Doge Francesco Donato, and to the Council of Ten.”
Processing into the hall in a single file, the ten most powerful men in the Republic of Venice mounted the dais. They were dressed identically in long black robes with wide red sashes of silk that hung over their left shoulders. Small round black hats adorned their heads, each topped with an incongruous red fluffy pom-pom. All concealed their faces behind black leather masks.
Solemnly, they took their places on either side of the Doge’s gilded throne. The Doge came last, robed in his gold-and-white gown with his ornate corno on his head. He was one of the few people in the chamber who dared to reveal his face.
On closer inspection, Francis curled his lip. The Doge looks as if he, too, did not sleep well last night. He has the expression of a dried prune.
The Doge lowered himself onto his throne, carefully arranged the fall of his garments, then gestured for everyone else to be seated. He nodded to the herald who stepped forward to read the charge from a black-bound ledger.
“This court is convened this day in extra-ordinary session to try the accused, Jessica Leonardo, here present, for the grave crimes of heresy, witchcraft and treason.” He cleared his throat. “Heresy, in that the accused, being baptized in the Catholic faith as an infant, has relapsed in her beliefs and has returned to the Jewish practices of her family.”
Jessica gripped the arms of her chair but said nothing. She lifted her chin higher.
Francis silently applauded her courage. Oh, most cherished Jessica! You are the only innocent soul in this pest-house.
The herald continued in a rush with his lengthy charge. “Secondly, witchcraft in that the accused is known to practice certain strange arts and she manufactures mysterious potions, elixirs and ointments that contain demonic powers. Furthermore, the accused bears the mark of the devil upon her face.”
Jessica shook her head though she remained silent.
The herald turned a page of his book. “Finally, the accused has committed the heinous act of treason against the Republic by seeking private information of a political nature from well-placed men who had sought her services as a healer of pain. Furthermore, she revealed this information and conspired with several Englishmen who are suspected to be spies.”
The spectators gasped in outrage. Witchcraft was one thing—a church matter—but betraying the secrets of their beloved city was something that hurt the general populace. At the words “Englishmen” and “spies,” Jessica jerked in her chair as if she had been struck. Across the room, Cosma turned pale and choked on a sugared nut. Francis shivered and held his breath. If Jessica glanced at him now, she would doom both of them before he could carry out his plan. One look from her would confirm a conspiracy. Both Giulio and Jobe had been right. Somehow he had overtipped his hand. His skin grew icy cold. He fought back his instinctive urge to flee the room.
Staring at the herald, Jessica straightened herself again. “Never!” she protested. Her clear musical voice carried to the farthest corner of the packed chamber.
A lawyer, clad in a dark gray gown and white mantle, rose from the table just below the dais. “The prisoner will remain silent until spoken to. How do you answer to these charges?” he continued in a booming voice.
Jessica shot a haughty look at the man. “I am innocent. There is not one grain of truth in any of those accusations.”
The lawyer lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed?” he sneered. “Let us examine the first charge. On your oath before God Almighty to speak the truth, are you a Jew?”
Jessica looked directly at the Doge. “Before the Lord God, I swear I am not. I have always been a faithful daughter of Holy Mother Church.”
The lawyer waved his hand dismissively. “If this is true then please explain to the Council about the casket found under your bed.”
For the first time Jessica appeared uncertain. “What casket?”
With a flourish made for the benefit of the spectators, the lawyer turned to his table and lifted a burgundy napkin that had concealed a cedar casket the size of a large Bible. “Do you recognize this, Jessica Leonardo?”
Jessica dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands to keep them from shaking visibly. Under no circumstances would she betray her terror to the mob in the chamber. For the past few days she had thought through her defense against the charges of witchcraft and heresy but the sight of the strange chest unnerved her. She had no earthly idea whose it was nor how it had gotten under her bed.
She cleared her throat. “I have never seen that box before in my life.”
The lawyer narrowed his eyes. “And you swear that you know nothing of these?” He opened the chest and took out a number of items, one by one. “Your Highness and my lords, here is a sack of money containing five hundred ducats.”
A murmur of wonderment ran around the room. Jessica gasped under her breath. She had never possessed that much coin. Had Gobbo reverted to his former criminal occupation? Pray God, no!
The lawyer opened a smaller pouch. “Here is a fine turquoise set in a golden ring valued at fourscore ducats.” He held up the costly jewel.
Jessica sucked in her breath. She recognized the ring as her mother’s bride gift from her father. Lucia had only worn it for special occasions. One day it was supposed to belong to Jessica. The money pouch must also belong to her father
, she concluded, but why did he hide his treasure in her house and why didn’t he tell her about it?
Aloud she remarked, “I did not know it was a crime in Venice to own money or jewelry. If that is true, my lord, perhaps you should arrest everyone in this room.”
The lawyer held up his hand to silence the wave of laughter. A catlike smirk played on his lips. “I agree that such a display of wealth while most interesting is hardly incriminating.” He picked up two books and waved them over his head. “But what of these, signorina?”
She stared at them. “What are they?”
He opened one and thrust it under her nose. “Read the title,” he commanded.
Jessica shook her head. “Alas, my lord, I cannot,” she replied in a stronger voice than she felt. “I never learned to read.”
Inwardly, she quaked for she recognized the characters as Hebrew. Now she understood Doctor Leonardo’s reason for secreting this casket away from his own home. He feared that his religious relapse had been discovered. She pressed her lips together as the shock of her father’s perfidy seeped through her. Is there no mercy in heaven—or on earth—because I am my father’s child?
“And these?” The lawyer held up a golden menorah candle holder and a silver cup that Jessica also recognized as her father’s. “Do you know anything of these pieces of idolatry?”
I must chose my words with care lest I doom my parents. Though her father had banished her from his home twelve years ago, she could not bring herself to hate him or her mother.
Aloud, Jessica replied, “I believe they are things that the Jews use but I have never used them.” She stared directly into the lawyer’s muddy-brown eyes. “Forgive me for my ignorance of the law, my lord, but I thought that the Jews of Venice were free to worship in their own manner as long as they obeyed the rules of the Council.”
He glared at her. “Ah, I perceive that you show the whole wealth of your wit in an instant. Do not play your weak words on me, signorina. I am better at this game than you will ever hope to be. Tell the Council—are these things yours and are you a Jewess?”
Jessica’s temper flared. “No, my lord, I swear that they are not mine, nor have I ever used such items. I am not a Jew now nor have I ever been one. I attend Mass daily. I pray to God every night for His blessings. Furthermore, I am not a witch.”
“Oh?” The lawyer laid the menorah and kaddish cup back on the table, then he advanced toward her. “Very well, let us examine the second charge. Many witnesses say that you have healed their aches and pains with your secret potions. In fact, you are renowned in this city for your wondrous healing powers. You have already professed that you are uneducated. How did you come by this skill if not by witchcraft?”
Jessica tossed her hair from her face. Now she was on firmer ground. She had prepared herself for this question. “It is a gift from God, not the devil. I do only good not harm. How can the devil perform good works when he is evil?”
One of the anonymous councillors leaned down from his chair. “Remove your mask, girl,” he barked. “Let us see your face.”
A shiver of panic ran through her. The moment she had most feared had come. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but my face is much disfigured. The sight of it would sicken you.”
The councillor sat back in his chair, said nothing, but nodded to one of the guards that stood behind Jessica. Before she realized what had happened, the man reached over her shoulder and yanked the mask from her face. At the sight of the damning mark on her left cheek, the reaction among the Council of Ten was instantaneous. They drew back in their ornate chairs and crossed themselves. The spectators on the left side of the room that could also see her shame voiced their dismay and revulsion. Even the smug lawyer retreated before her.
Now that her nightmare had come to pass, Jessica lifted her head higher. Very well, let everyone take a good look. She was tired of cowering in the shadows. From the corner of her eye, she glanced in Francis’s direction. Was he also horrified by her face?
Though taken by surprise, Francis sent her a smile that melted her heart. Filled with a surge of conflicting emotions, she trembled then looked quickly away from him. His smile had been unmistakably one of love, not of gloating. If he had not denounced her, then who had done it?
The lawyer recovered himself. “Not a witch?” he cried out. “Yet you carry the mark of Satan himself. Observe, my lords, where his infernal kiss has burned her skin!”
Jessica touched her cheek. “Not so, my lord. I have never lain with anyone and certainly not with the devil. This is only a discoloration that I have carried since my birth. Ask my parents if you do not believe me.”
The lawyer looked down his nose at her. “Doctor and Madam Leonardo have taken the wise decision to depart the city rather than befoul themselves with you. I doubt they will ever return. You have no witnesses to this claim.”
Though I am glad of their escape, I am now truly alone in this world. Tears rose behind her eyelids. “I am a good Catholic, my lords,” she repeated in a soft voice. “I have led a chaste and simple life. I swear to you upon my soul that I have never lain with the devil, nor with any man.”
A sudden movement from the rear benches made her look up. Dressed in the most garish crimson clothing and standing taller than everyone else around him, Francis Bardolph raised his voice over the murmuring of the crowd.
“I will be her witness. Your Most Serene Highness and worthy members of the Council, will you give me leave to speak?”
Jessica’s body went rigid with tension. No, Francis, sit down! Live and compose an epitaph for me. Her eyes begged him to be silent. Instead the gaudy Englishman made his way through the press of people.
The Doge, taken aback by these startling events, conferred with the councillors that sat on both sides of him. Then he nodded to the herald to rap his staff for silence.
When the Great Hall grew quiet, the Doge crooked a languid finger at the masked gentleman. “Draw hither.”
Jessica clasped her hands together as Francis strode to her side. He flashed her a quick smile before he began. “Donna Jessica speaks the truth when she says that she is a good Catholic. I have seen her often at prayer in Saint Mark’s. This sweet girl is not a witch but as wise, virtuous and gentle a Christian soul as can be found in all of Venice. Ask anyone who has enjoyed her healing touch. Believe me, I know whereof I speak, my lords.”
Turning, he stared directly at the gaggle of courtesans and at Cosma di Luna in particular. “For the past five months I have sampled a great many favors offered by Venice’s famous beauties. I am a man of the world and I know the difference between a dove and a well-used polecat.”
One of the courtesans gasped, then turned a mottled crimson under her mask.
Francis chuckled and pointed toward the fuming Cosma. “See, my lords? I am followed even into this august hall of justice by their odor.”
The crowd erupted in hearty laughter. Jessica leaned toward Francis and whispered out of the side of her mouth, “You should not be here.”
He bowed his head closer to hers. “Where else could I be but at your side?” He lifted her chin and stroked the pad of his thumb over the hated mark on her face. “I did not betray you, cara mia.”
“I realize that—now,” she murmured.
The herald rapped again and again for order. Once the people had settled down, the Doge beckoned Francis to the foot of the dais.
“Reveal yourself.”
Francis untied the black ribbons that held his mask in place. Then he tossed it among the nearest group of spectators. Sweeping off his plumed hat, he gave the Doge a deep courtly bow.
The Doge sniffed. “Who are you?”
“Francis Bardolph, a holiday-maker visiting your fair city.”
The Doge stroked his chin with his forefinger. “And what is the precise nature of your business with this woman?”
Jessica held her breath. Turning his back on the entire Council of Ten, Francis crossed to her side once more. As he too
k one of her cold hands in his warm one and kissed it, Jessica’s toes curled inside her shoes.
“Jessica Leonardo is my betrothed,” he replied in a loud ringing voice. “We had hoped to be married before the season of Lent began.”
Jessica gripped his hand tighter as the room whirled about her. Didn’t Francis realize that he had just signed his own death warrant?
Chapter Seventeen
“He’s bewitched!” someone shouted.
The Hall of the Great Council erupted in a babel of confusion. The thousand spectators all spoke at once. The ten black-robed men on the dais muttered among themselves. The herald’s call for order could barely be heard. The Doge pursed his lips as if he had bitten into a lemon.
At the center of the storm, Jessica whispered to her would-be protector. “Francis, you are moonstruck! Your offer will come to nothing. I am a commoner.”
He gave her the most enchanting, infuriating grin. “And I, sweetheart, am a bastard.”
Wishing she could pound some sense into that handsome head, Jessica gripped his hand tighter. “Sì, you are a rogue, indeed, but this is no laughing matter, Francis.”
“I do not jest,” he murmured, kissing her hand again.
Jessica shook her head. “It is the law in Venice that if a nobleman marries a commoner, he will be stripped of his title and property.”
Francis lightly stroked her cheek—her ugly cheek. “Have you forgotten that I am an Englishman? Besides, there is no title to strip away.” He leaned closer and brushed her lips with his. “Be brave, cara.”
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