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“Oh, but there is,” said Signore Antonio. “And you brought it into this house. I remember it. I remember its unmistakable purple flowers.”
“A gift for us from those dear kindred of ours in Brazil,” said Lodovico. He appeared wounded. He appeared sad. “A beautiful blossom for a garden of beautiful blossoms. I made no effort to conceal this plant from you. I know nothing of its powers. Who does know of its powers?” He looked at me. “You!” he said to me, “and your fellow Jew, Vitale, your fellow cohort in this plot. Are you worshippers of the Evil One together! Did the Evil One tell you what this plant could do? If this caviar is tainted, it’s with the poison you both put into it.” His wonderful copious tears were flowing again. “How vile of you to do this to my brother.”
Signore Antonio shook his head. His eyes were fixed on Lodovico. “No,” he whispered. “Neither man could have done this thing. You brought the plant. You brought the caviar into the house.”
“Father, they are witches, these men. They are evil.”
“Are they?” asked Signore Antonio. “And what friend of ours from Brazil sent us this unusual flower? Rather, I think you purchased it in this very city, and brought it home and placed it very near the table where you do your writings, your translations.”
“No, a gift, I tell you. I don’t recall now when it came.”
“But I do. And it was only a short time ago, and at the very same time that you, my son, Lodovico, hit upon the idea that caviar would sharpen the attitude of your weakened brother.”
All this while the patient had watched these proceedings with horror. He’d glanced to the left at his father, to the right at his brother, he’d studied the priests when they spoke. He’d stared at me with piercing horrified eyes as I spoke.
And now he leaned forward and picked up the bowl of caviar in his quivering hand.
“No, don’t touch it!” I said. “Don’t let it near your eyes. It will burn them. Don’t you remember this?”
“I remember it,” said the father.
One of the priests reached for the dish, but the patient had set it down on the mount of brocade coverlets, and he stared at it, as if it had a life of its own, as if he were looking at the flame of a candle.
He lifted the small spoon in his hand.
His father suddenly seized it from him and threw the caviar to the side where it fell on the coverlet and stained it black.
Lodovico, before he could check himself, moved back from the bed where the caviar had spilled. He stepped backwards instinctively. And only then did he realize what he’d done. He looked up at his father.
He still held the dagger in his hand.
“You think me guilty of this?” he demanded of his father. “There is no poison there, I tell you. There is nothing but a stain now which the washerwomen will seek in vain to wash out. But there is no poison.”
“Come with me,” I said, “down to the orangery. I’ll show you the tree. Find some hapless animal. I’ll show you what this poison can do. I’ll show you how very black it is, this seed, and how perfect was the caviar for concealing it.”
Suddenly Lodovico rushed at me with the dagger. I knew well how to defend myself, and smashed the hard side of my hand into his wrist, knocking the blade out of his grip, but then he went for my throat with outstretched fingers. I brought my arms up instantly crossed, and struck out, forcing his arms apart with a wild and sudden gesture.
He fell back confounded by these simple moves. Neither of them would have been much of a surprise in our times when martial arts are taught to children. I was ashamed of how much I had enjoyed the struggle.
One of the guards picked up the dagger.
Lodovico stood shaken, and then, desperately, he ran his hand along the stain on the coverlet, gathering up but a few grains of the caviar and he put this on his tongue. “See, I tell you, I am maligned. I am maligned by evil Jews who consort to destroy me for no other reason but that I know their tricks and what they would have done to Niccolò.”
He licked his lips. He’d had but the tiniest portion of the caviar, and could easily conceal the effects.
Again a deep silence fell. Only the sudden shuddering of Niccolò broke the silence.
“Brother,” he whispered. “This is all on account of Leticia.”
“A lie!” said Lodovico thickly. “How dare you?”
“Oh, if only I’d known,” said Niccolò. “What is she but one of many lovely young maidens who might have been to me a gentle bride? If only I’d known.”
Signore Antonio glowered at Lodovico.
“Leticia, is it?” he whispered.
“I tell you, these Jews have bewitched him. I tell you it is they who put the poison in the caviar, I tell you I am innocent.” He was weeping, he was angry, he was whispering and muttering, and once again, he spoke. “It was this one, Vitale, who brought the flower to the house. I remember it now. How else should he and his friend know of its power? I tell you, this one, this Toby, is convicted out of his own mouth.”
The old man shook his head at the pity of it.
“Come,” said Signore Antonio. He gestured for his armed servants to take Lodovico in hand. He looked at me. “Take me down to the orangery and show me this medicine.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE YOUNG MAN’S FACE WAS TWISTED WITH MALICE. The very plasticity which had given him such easy grief before now gave him a mask of fury. He pushed the armed men off and walked with his head high as we descended the steps, and gathered, all of us, save for Niccolò, of course, in the orangery.
There stood the plant, and I pointed out the many black seeds which had fallen already into the soil. I pointed out the half-withered flowers already harboring the poison.
A servant was sent to find some poor stray dog that it might be brought into the house, and soon the yelps of the poor little beast were echoing up the broad stairway.
Vitale stared at the purple flowers in horror. Signore Antonio merely glowered at it, and the two priests stood staring coldly at me and at Vitale as though we were still somehow responsible for what had happened here.
An elderly woman, much bewildered and frightened, produced a crockery dish for the poor starved dog and went to fill it with water.
I put back on the gloves I’d removed to play the lute, and requesting Lodovico’s dagger, I gathered the seeds into a heap and then looked around for something with which to crush them. Only the handle of the dagger was at hand. And so I used it to make a powder, a good pinch of which I now put into the dog’s water. I put in another pinch and yet another.
