FSF Magazine, February 2007

by Spilogale Authors

  She attended Mass every morning, accompanied by a few servants and one or more of her brothers. I was sometimes made part of the company. While the brothers ogled the ladies and exchanged with their friends accounts of their previous night's escapades, Maddalena knelt with bowed head, praying for us all. Once we left those cool echoing spaces and the church doors closed behind us, she became a carefree young lady once again. She was an angel, but human, fully human.

  Her marriage to the son of a leading family was to take place in the spring. Like all marriages of wealth and power in this city, it was first and foremost an alliance, arranged with the scrupulous care one might give to a treaty between great powers. In truth, that is what it was. The family of her betrothed, landowners and bankers, were wealthier than that of Count Ridolfo, but did not enjoy his stature and his influence. My master had three times been a Lord Prior; his brother had been elected once to the Signory and served as one of the Twelve.

  Jacopo, the betrothed, was a splendid-looking animal, tall and well-formed, with regular features and deep brown hair that curled at his shoulders. His voice was pleasing to the ear. He smiled easily and often, and his wit coaxed smiles and laughter from every company. I amused myself with the conceit that the Creator, having introduced me to the household, now wished to restore balance in our little universe by adding one who was my opposite—at least in appearance.

  Jacopo was in truth a beautiful beast, and Maddalena was enchanted by him. She cooed and moaned and sighed over his smile, his voice, his hair, and his eyes, repeated his most banal pleasantries as if they were Holy Writ, and recited over and over the clumsy verses he sent her until the entire household knew them by heart. She wearied everyone with her incessant praise of her Jacopo.

  I dutifully echoed her, but set my bounds: I would not praise his eyes. They held a warning of danger to come. Deep within them was the glint of hunger. This youth whose person might have obtained for him whatever he desired, or, that failing, whose wealth enabled him to purchase what he could not seize outright, had the avaricious gaze of the peasant who wants a thing because it exists, because another enjoys it, simply because it is not his.

  I would have given Jacopo a family crest more fitting than the one he boasted. I would have a gaping mouth and two outstretched hands gules on a field sable, the motto the single word desidero thrice repeated. Jacopo had the face of an angel and the soul of a greedy ape.

  I had no part in the wedding celebrations. I was lent for a time to Count Sigonio, a friend of my master's who had expressed admiration for my talents and was at the time in want of a fool. I believe, too, that both families feared that the sight of my face at the wedding would assure that the first child of this union would be a monster.

  I had once seen the fool of Count Sigonio, a zany dwarf. He was known as Fratellino for his custom of donning a miniature friar's habit and delivering blasphemous sermons to entertain the company. He was a gifted mimic who could perfectly ape the manners and speech of anyone he met, to the delight of the onlookers. Alas for Fratellino, not everyone appreciated his gifts. His body was found one morning on the riverbank. It was said that he fell from a bridge and drowned during a drunken revel. Believe what you will.

  In my stay with Count Sigonio I confined my mockery to my own appearance, and was much praised and generously rewarded. I also observed and listened, and returned to my master with useful information.

  Count Ridolfo's enemies, the Forzos, had been guests at Maddalena's wedding and had presented the couple with a richly ornamented gold and silver bowl, the work of one of the city's leading artisans. They had not abandoned their plan to murder the Count and his sons, merely postponed it to a more suitable moment, and in the meantime they pretended friendship. My master responded in kind, playing the gracious host, the grateful parent, the friend; in their eyes, the dupe. He bided his time. He had his own plans, and in these I was able to serve him well.

  It was clear that the Forzos must die if my master and his family were to live safely and prosper in the city. But when they were gone, other enemies equally powerful would remain. The solution to this problem was obvious to me, though it did not occur to others; if it did, they were hesitant to offer it. I was fortunate to possess a resource that others did not enjoy, and this was the proper time to make use of it.

  I now had freer access to Count Ridolfo, and when the moment seemed propitious, I suggested to him that it would be well to dispose of as many of his enemies as possible at a single stroke. His stony face came very close to a smile at my suggestion.

  "What does my fool advise?” he asked.

  I looked at the others in the room and said, “First of all, secrecy."

  He dismissed all but Andrea, and they left the chamber without a word. “You trust no one,” he said when the door closed behind the last man.

  "Caution is the strongest armor,” I said.

  "Your advice."

  "A great banquet, the Forzos as honored guests. It must be held the Monday after next."

  "And why then?” he asked.

  "Because two days following, they dine with their friends and allies the Dati."

  The Count and his son exchanged a quick glance. This alliance was unknown to them.

  I quickly went on, “The Forzos will die before they reach home that night, and all will say—with a little encouragement—that they have been poisoned by the treachery of the Dati. The Dati will be punished for their crime. You will see to that. And you will be rid of both enemies."

  "Can you do this?” the Count asked.

  "They will be poisoned on the night they dine with us, as will you and I and all who sit at table. But I will administer the antidote to those you select."

  "So the Forzos die, and the Dati are accused. An admirable plan.” He reflected for a time, then said, “You would have me trust you with my life."

  "As I trust you with mine. I will take the poison too, my lord. A double dose, for your double assurance."

  Again he reflected, but this time only briefly. Then with a sharp bark of mirthless laughter he said, “It will be so."

  And so it was—though not precisely as I had described it. The feast was splendid, the celebration long and hearty. Every member of both our houses attended. I kept the company in an uproar with my quips and antics, and all were merry.

  When every belly had been filled to repletion and the last kisses and embraces and vows of everlasting friendship had been sworn, the doors were closed and locked behind our departing guests and every shutter firmly secured. All merriment ceased and we hastened to purge ourselves.

  For all in our household, purging was unnecessary; no one had been poisoned. I intended to dispose of our enemies by means of my darker knowledge. But it was essential for my safety that all believed themselves poisoned. I had no wish to die at the stake. The Count would protect an assassin, but even he would not defend a practitioner of the black arts.

  I conscientiously made certain that all those who had sat at table gagged and retched and heaved their sides to disgorge the sumptuous meats, the excellent wines, the fruits and the sweets and the sauces. When we all had emptied our bellies, I personally administered an unpleasant-tasting mixture which I presented as the antidote, and watched them gulp it down eagerly. Their grimaces made a most amusing spectacle, well worth the brief discomfort I was forced to undergo with them.

  The servants had been kept in ignorance of the plot. As always, they snatched what choice bits they could from the platters and ate heartily of what remained, and so I made sure to season their next day's meals with my antidote, and to do so in Andrea's presence.

  Next day the city talked of nothing but the friendship between our house and the Forzos. Two days after, when that family were found dead and bloated in their palazzo, swollen tongues bulging from their mouths, all were busy babbling of the treachery of the Dati.

  My master led the cry for justice and saw that it was administered swiftly and sternly. He commissioned a magni
ficent memorial to his murdered friends. All in all, the Forzo affair was a great victory for him. For me, the second use of my power was a triumph. I, the Count's fool, became his trusted advisor.

  * * * *

  For two years and more, I was called upon to do little more than entertain his guests and from time to time, visit a friend's house. I did my work to the satisfaction of all, and needed no exercise of my special knowledge, which pleased me. Only one malediction remained, and I had no wish to use it prematurely.

  Life was easy and pleasant. So easy was it that I began to grow bored.

  On the occasion of their third anniversary, Maddalena and her husband came to the Count's palazzo for a prolonged visit, bringing their little son, Leonardo. He was a healthy, vigorous child with his father's features and his mother's nature. He attached himself to me at once, to his mother's delight and his father's disgust, but even Jacopo smiled at our joint antics—more, I suspect, to display his even white teeth than to express his pleasure.

  Maddalena was already great with their second child, and Jacopo played the role of solicitous husband on every occasion, keeping always by her side, whispering to her, taking her arm, gazing on her fondly in company. They seemed a happy couple.

  She came to my chamber in the dead of night. I awoke at the sound of someone at the door, but it was so faint a sound that at first I thought it a cat or a rat brushing against the door as it passed. Then came a soft rhythmic tapping.

  I armed myself and moved silently to the door. There I waited. Again came the soft tapping and then my name, in a whisper.

  I knew the voice at once. For an instant I was too astonished to respond. She had come to me in the night, to my chamber.

  Then she whispered my name again, “Niccolo, Niccolo, help me."

  I opened the door and she slipped in as if in flight. She fell to her knees, sobbing, and I stooped to lift her. She threw her arms around me and pulled herself close. I drew away and quickly shut the door. If she were found here it could mean death for us both.

  "My lady, is there some danger?"

  "He is a beast. A monster from Hell!"

  "Do you speak of your husband?"

  She clutched my hand in both of hers. “Jacopo is a monster. I have married a monster."

  "The fairest man in the city, and you call him a monster? I am the monster, my lady."

  She pressed her head against my chest. Sobbing, she said, “No, Niccolo, you are good. Within, you are good, and kind. I have always seen that. His ugliness is deep inside him, hidden from all eyes. Only those closest to him know of it, and they can tell no one, for no one will believe them. Even my own family see only the surface."

  "What would you have me do?"

  "Help me. Please, Niccolo, help me! He will never change. He has beaten me, and I fear what he will do to our son."

  Her bare white arms and her face bore no signs of abuse. “My lady, I see no marks."

  "When we learned that I am again with child, he stopped striking me, but he is as cruel as ever in other ways, every way he can be. Help me, Niccolo, I beg you."

  "Your father, your brothers—will they do nothing?"

  "My father will not listen, and I cannot tell my brothers the things he has done to me. I am too ashamed. My mother would only tell me to be a better wife. You are the only one I can trust. You must help me. I will do anything you ask, only help me."

  I was astonished. I knew that not even sorcery could make a woman look on me with favor, but I truly believe I might have had Maddalena then and there, in my own bed.

  I did not yield to the temptation. Even the pleasure of cuckolding the strutting Jacopo was not worth this risk. And I trusted no one with my life, not even the gentle Maddalena.

  "Return to your chamber,” I said. “I will help you. You must give me time."

  She embraced me. “You are an angel. My faithful angel."

  I lay awake for much of the night, pondering her words. My thoughts were not angelic. You are good and kind, Niccolo. Within, you are good. Though the matter was grave, her innocence was almost comical.

  Ridding her of Jacopo posed no problem. I had often entertained myself with fantasies of his murder. I knew I must move with care. Maddalena could be given no reason to suspect my hand in his death. I believe that even had she proof, she would hesitate to betray me, instead condemning herself for inciting me to the deed. Such was her nature. But that innocent and pious nature might undo us both. In time, she might come to regret her rash words. She might even forgive Jacopo, and recant her plea to me. And what if she should confess the revelation to him?

  The danger was equally great whether I chose to act on my promise or to ignore it, so my decision was easily made.

  Jacopo would die, soon, and by my own hand. My remaining malediction would not be thrown away on a jackal. The deed would give me as much pleasure as it gave relief to Maddalena.

  Their child was a second son as beautiful as the first. So everyone agreed, and I must accept their assessment. I am a poor judge of beauty. I saw Maddalena one day about a month after the birth, and she had the expression of a hunted creature. Others seemed not to notice.

  Jacopo died during carnival. His body was found in a narrow passage near the brothels. He was apparently the victim of a quarrel or a robbery. His face had been disfigured with particular savagery.

  I had planned it carefully. On the evening of his death I was entertaining the Count's guests at a banquet that lasted well into the morning hours. I had moved freely among the guests, joking and laughing, making sure that every guest was befuddled by wine and unaware of the hour, but conscious of my constant presence. Jacopo occupied me for no more than a quarter of an hour, and no one was aware of my brief absence. All who had been present agreed that I was particularly amusing that evening.

  Our city is not shocked easily, but the violence of this murder was the topic of every conversation for some time. My master saw to that. Who could have perpetrated so vicious an attack on handsome, jovial Jacopo, adoring young husband and loving father of two fine sons, was the subject for much speculation and some fear. The severest and most searching inquiries were demanded by Count Ridolfo, who vowed to seek out the murderer of his beloved son-in-law. He did not succeed.

  My master judged it wise, for her safety and the care of her sons, that Maddalena return to the family's palazzo. Jacopo's family dared make no objection, and soon she was among us once again. I became the guardian and playmate of Leonardo and his younger brother, and saw Maddalena daily, but our nighttime conversation was never mentioned.

  My master summoned me one day to discuss a dinner to be given in honor of certain city officials. When we had settled the details, he said, “Are you content in my service?"

  Such a question came unexpectedly from Count Ridolfo, to whom the contentment of others was a matter of small importance. But I did not hesitate. “I am very content. I hope I have been useful."

  "I suspect you have been useful in some ways I do not know, and do not care to know.” He paused, and I did not respond. Before I could speak he went on, “You never ask for money. Have you no needs, or do you steal all you require?"

  "I serve a great family. I am well fed, comfortably housed, and richly dressed. I live in a grand palazzo and have servants of my own. Everyone in the household is generous to me, as are your friends in the homes I visit. What more could I want?"

  "Such contentment is a blessing. But a loyal servant deserves a reward.” He pushed a purse across the table. “Be ready when I require future service."

  In the years that followed I have had no need of my occult knowledge. On every occasion I proved myself worthy of Count Ridolfo's trust and generosity by my wits alone. The time came when he had great need of a faithful servant, for a series of heavy blows fell upon him. His youngest son, Paolo, was killed in a street brawl. Paolo was an idle, foolish fellow, too quick to perceive an insult where none existed, and he paid dearly for his pride. Within the year the two
older sons were swept to their deaths in an avalanche while on a mission to France. All his sons had died childless.

  Of all his children, only Maddalena remained, and she was no longer the carefree child who had left to marry Jacopo. Now a woman of twenty-two at the height of her beauty, she had not yet remarried. The death of that posturer haunted her. She blotted his cruelty from her memory and persuaded herself that they had had a loving marriage. Her smiles were seen no more. She became as pious as her mother, surpassing even that gaunt and spectral old woman in her devotions.

  More and more, Count Ridolfo placed his hope in his grandsons and his trust in me, I became their accepted guardian and teacher.

  I should have been wary when Maddalena began to seek my advice about “our” children. When one day she addressed me in private as “Jacopo,” I let it pass as a lapse of thought or a slip of the tongue. But when she came to my room that night, slipped into my bed, called me husband and coaxed me to her side with fond names, I lost my wits.

  I was powerless. My strength, my cunning, my dark power were all useless to me. I did not know what to do. My life was in her hands. If I turned her away, what wild accusations might she make? She need do no more than reveal our conversation on that night so many years ago to destroy me. And yet if I played the role she had cast for me, the consequences could only lead to disaster.

  But she was beautiful, so beautiful. She gave herself to me eagerly. And the flesh—even a fool's misshapen flesh—is weak.

  After that night she came to me regularly, and in our moments together she always called me her Jacopo, praised my beauty and spoke lovingly of our years of married happiness. Yet before others she behaved toward me as to a servant.

  She knew the truth but could not admit her guilt to herself. Her mind had divided itself in two. One part denied Jacopo's death, telling her that her husband lived, that she was a loyal and loving wife, innocent of all wrongdoing. But the other part knew all that had happened as clearly as if she had witnessed the deed.

  On the night when she whispered to me that she was to have our third child, I knew that the masquerade could not continue. I had known the love of a woman, a mad, beautiful woman who looked at me and saw the ghost of the handsome husband whose death she had bought about. Now it must end.