“You know very well where we’re going, Alfeo.”
“But he can’t do this, can he?” I could hear my voice growing shriller by the word. “Doesn’t he need a vote of the Ten, or at least another inquisitor’s approval?” There was an unreal quality about this experience. That I might be locked up until the Maestro came to apologize and explain had always been a risk, but we had never dreamed of extempore torture.
The vizio smiled mirthlessly. “All he needs is men to obey him, Alfeo. Do you want a sword point in your back or not?”
I did not. The stairs seemed shorter than I expected, but they could not have been long enough for me. The torture chamber is surprisingly large, but then it plays an important role in government. I looked around in despair.
Vasco was watching me. “Give him the tour, Carlo.”
One of the jailers said, “If messer would come this way…” I was appalled at how huge he was-he could not possibly have been as big as Bruno, but I was feeling unusually small. He conducted me around the room, courteously explaining the machinery for breaking, twisting, burning, choking, wrenching, dislocating, crushing. In truth, the entire collection seemed quite insignificant, just a bag of tools spread out on the floor; all that really mattered was the rope dangling in the center.
When the circuit was completed, I was back at the vizio. I knew he must see my shaking hands and hear my teeth clattering. No doubt the tormentors could tell exactly how long I would resist before I broke. And when I did I would not be able to tell them what they had been told to find out. I had to speak or go mad, even knowing that this was just evidence of my terror.
“You enjoy this part of your job?”
“No, I hate it,” Vasco said seriously. “I would enjoy watching you take forty or fifty strokes of the lash, Alfeo, but even you don’t deserve this. Fortunately I do not have to stay and watch what happens. As soon as you have been secured, I am free to go. Do you want to do it the easy way or the painful way? The easy way is much better.”
Coward that I was, I would do anything to postpone the start of pain. I took off my hat and handed it to the monster looming over me. Then cloak, doublet, shirt, until I was bare to the waist. He took them as politely as a valet, then turned and threw them down in a corner beside a bucket.
“You can keep your britches on,” Vasco said. “For now.” He pointed to the bucket. “You need to use that?”
To my shame, I did need to use that, and all four of them watched while I did so. Humble as a mouse, I crept back to the rope, where they waited for me.
“If messer will pardon…” The big torturer pulled my arms behind me and knotted the rope around my wrists and forearms, hauling my elbows together. The torture known as the cord, or strappado, is more feared than the rack. A man who denies his crime on the cord cannot be hanged for it afterwards. Since he will no longer have any use of his arms, that is a doubtful blessing, and one that cannot be earned very often.
A moment’s respite, then a pulley creaked and the rope began to tighten, raising my arms and bending my torso forward. My elbows could not bend at all at that angle, and my shoulders very little. When my head was level with my crotch and I stood on tiptoe, a voice said, “Tie it there.”
Vasco bent close to my ear. “Resist as long as you can,” he whispered. “If you give up too easily they won’t believe you, and then it’s terrible.”
He told Carlo to carry on, and left, taking his lantern. I was shaking harder than ever, teeth chattering uncontrollably. Cold was a part of that, but I was scared out of my wits and do not deny it. One of the torturers came close and clasped my shoulder with a callused hand.
“Strong one,” he remarked to the others. “We’ll need weights.” He gave me a playful slap on the buttocks. “Don’t go away. We’ll be back.”
They left and the door boomed shut.
19
I thought I was alone, but could not be certain. All I could hear was the crackle of the fire, a sound I had always considered cheerful until then. All I could see was the bucket and my tormented feet. The room bore an indefinable stench, no doubt stemming from centuries of every bodily secretion imaginable. The pain in my toes was already becoming unbearable, but any attempt to ease them threw more strain on my shoulders. When the real torment began, of course, they would raise me right off the floor, with or without weights on my feet, and with or without bouncing, whatever they chose.
The doge said, “You seem to be in trouble again, lad.”
I started, and gasped aloud at the pain even that twitch caused me. With an effort, I made my mouth work more or less normally. “That’s a very good imitation.”
“I really think you should leave before those fine sinners come back. Why don’t you call on little Putrid for help?”
The voice was right beside me, but I could not see the speaker’s feet. I was in the power of a fiend from hell and yet I felt a tingle of hope. This whole experience had been just too bad to be true. Even the Three must have some procedures to follow and one state inquisitor, acting alone, sending a witness straight to torture did not seem plausible. The king of France can lock up a man in the Bastille on a whim, a French count can have a peasant flogged or hanged, but in Venice a nobleman who strikes a servant will be charged and punished. The Republic has never tolerated despots.
“I don’t believe a word you say. Go away.”
A cold and scaly finger scratched all the way down my bare back, making all my flesh cringe.
The demon sighed. “We shall see. How’s this voice?”
“Senator Tirali.”
“Very good! A charming man. We have great hopes for him. Why aren’t you going to accept his offer?”
“How do you know I’m not?”
“You are. You think you’re not, but I am going to talk you into it. Violetta would love to go to Rome with you, you know.”
I had thought of that, Rome with Violetta…
Violetta’s voice said, “You can’t expect a harlot to stay faithful, darling, but you don’t mind sharing me and you know you can’t ever marry me. You’d be out of the Golden Book in a flash if you did that. We women are so fickle, Alfeo! We tire of our boy toys. Another month or two, if you’re lucky, and then I will send you away and find another.”
Back to the silky tones of Senator Tirali: “You need money, lots of money, so you can be her patron and pay her. You have that manuscript. It’s quite genuine, the only surviving copy of Meleager by Euripides. Selling it here will be very dangerous. You’ll have problems with provenance, Alfeo. Too many people know about it. But in Rome? Or even better, stop in Florence on your way there. Grand Duke Ferdinand is crazy about that sort of trash. You’ll be a rich man before you even get to Rome. That way you can be Violetta’s patron, have her almost all to yourself. And the opportunities! A trusted confidant of the Venetian ambassador? Millions, you can make there.”
“I have thought of all of that,” I said. “Go away. I have to say my prayers.”
The demon laughed. He changed to the Maestro’s scratchy old voice. “And there’s me. You know where I keep my gold, Alfeo, my lovely box of ducats. Nobody else even knows it exists, so no one will look for it. You know what all my books are worth, too, every one of them. And I’ve left them all to you in my will.”
I started to say a paternoster and was stopped by a monstrous punch on the kidney. I won’t bother to describe the results-you can guess. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I was left gagging and sobbing…Oh, Lord! If one punch made me weep like this, what would an hour on the cord do?
“Don’t interrupt me when I am tempting,” the demon said in Inquisitor Dona’s voice. “You need money, Alfeo. You need money to keep Violetta willing. You need money to restore your family name. Yes, it would be a shame to betray the Maestro when he’s taught you so much, but he can’t last much longer now, can he? You know how to use all those poisons, but a pillow will be better. When he goes to bed tonight. You’re a strong lad and he’s so frail. He won’t have time to realize what’s happening. Two minutes’ work and the world will be yours, Alfeo! Wealth, women, power.”