“Do you mean the water will keep filling the cell until I cannot breathe?” Bianca’s eyes were wide.
Cecco nodded. “An’ what else could I mean? I heard the guards talking about it this noon. Never happened before in the history of the prisons, but with all this rain it’s a-fitting to happen now.”
“If the prison is going to flood, why hasn’t someone come to move us?” Bianca challenged him.
“What for? If’n you drown, you’ll be saving the state all that money for an execution. Bloody expensive them things are, what with the ropes and the knives being sharpened and all. It ain’t as easy to kill a body as you might think, especially if you are innocent like you say you are, and haven’t had any firsthand experience with it. Them executioners are a lazy lot, basically. They’re just as happy to let nature work its way with you and by tomorrow when the tide goes out, their job will be done for them.”
“Why aren’t we trying to escape?” Bianca moved forward on her stool. “I must get word to my friends! Why are we just sitting here doing nothing?”
“Bah!” Cecco looked at her disdainfully. “Doing nothing? I’m atrying to tell the story of my life to a woman. Look at the thanks I get.
“How can you just sit there and wait to die?” Bianca was incredulous.
“I ain’t said nothing about my dying, have I? I swear, if’n you weren’t going to be dead by the end of the night, I’d have them ears of yours examined. I’m not a prisoner like you.” Cecco pointed a finger at her. “I am free to go anytime I want.”
“You know a way out of here? You can escape?” Bianca was desperate. “Please, please, I beg you, let us go at once. I will reward you handsomely, I promise.”
Cecco’s sneer might have been lethal on the face of a larger man. “An’ I ain’t never heard them kinds of words before. ‘I will reward you handsomely,’ that’s what that witch-woman said before she ruined my life. Next thing you know, you’ll be agog over my adorable ears. That’s what really fixed it for me. She mentioned my ears and I before I knew it, I was on that boat to Sicily, cutlass in hand, to take care of her man.” Cecco grabbed a dagger from his waistband and flourished it in the air for emphasis.
Bianca’s desperation was tempered by surprise. Did all men set their made-up tales of woe in Sicily, she wondered to herself, her face assuming a quizzical aspect. Taking her new expression as a sign of interest, Cecco continued, using the dagger to punctuate his narrative. “Took two days to gather men together and another three days just to find the prey, wandering about as he was, and then we had to wait until they got out into the open countryside. An’ don’t think it was easy to find them out on them hot plains, not for one with my delicate constitution. Carlo and me and our three hired hands, we a-searched high and low before we find them, an’ then they don’t act as they ought to. There they was, like they was supposed to be, the two of them traveling together, the witch’s old lover that she wanted to get rid of, and her new one. But she had promised me that the one she wanted alive would stay behind and make the one she wanted dead ride out alone during the daytime, with only a few native guards who would go a-running off when we approached, but it ain’t happened like that at all.
“Night had just come, and at first I think to myself, Cecco them eyes of yours are going, because not only do I see two of them coming a pounding toward me, but two of them looking for all the world like twins. ‘Carlo,’ I says, ‘how many of them men on horseback you see there?’ and faithful Carlo tells me, ‘Two, master, two looking just the same.’ So now we are in a pickle because we’re only supposed to kill one of them, only agreed to kill one man, an’ I always stick to my word, an’ besides, the witch wanted one of them alive, so we’ve got to choose which one. I tell Carlo that since it was his big idea to get into this mess, he’d better do the choosing, so he takes one of our hired men and I take the other two. Carlo goes riding up to the one he’s chosen and gets ready to do his business, and I go riding up to the other one to keep him from a-interfering, but damn me if he didn’t start lashing out like a fury. For a moment I think to myself, maybe Carlo got the wrong one because this one before me sure ain’t very entertaining at all, but I look over an’ see that it’s too late, Carlo’d already gone an’ done his business,” Cecco drew the dagger across his throat in demonstration, “an’ there’s my prey heading over his way. Without so much as a by-your-leave, my man goes over and is about to slice Carlo’s head clear off. But I can’t have that, can’t have him killing good partners, so I get him from behind and knock him off his horse, an’ that’s the last of him.” The hilt of the dagger came down on Cecco’s palm with a loud thud.
Bianca’s interest in the story had grown from casual to acute during Cecco’s relation, and by the end she was so absorbed that she did not notice that the water now came up to the level of her stool. The parallels between the dwarf’s tale and the story Ian had told her that night in bed were staggering. If what Cecco was saying was true, then Ian’s story might not have been made up. Everything, from the ill-fated journey to Mora’s leaving, could have really happened. Perhaps Ian had not betrayed her. Perhaps he had not actually framed her deliberately for the murder. And perhaps he was not still in love with Mora.
But she would not be duped again if she could help it. The whole thing could be a coincidence. There were, after all, probably many bandits on the plains of Sicily, she surmised. She had to know more before she could be sure. Too much was riding on the veracity of the tale to take it without further questioning. “What happened then?” she asked with a degree of interest that did Cecco’s heart proud.
“Seein’ as the witch wanted one of them alive, we patched up the living one as good as we can, dragged him to Messina, an’ left him for someone to find. He kept wakin’ up and yellin’ stuff, so we hit him on the head a few times,” thud-thud-thud went the dagger, “but other than that we wanted to keep him in good condition for the witch.” Cecco’s face grew mournful. “Meantime, Carlo’s not looking any too good and by the time we got back to Venice, he’s agone and died on me. He was a great one, that Carlo, an’ I ain’t been the same since he left me.” He paused and sniffled a little, using his frayed velvet cuff to wipe a tear from his eye. “But it was just as well, anyway, ’cause it comes out that we gone an’ killed the wrong one, and the witch, she ain’t willing to stop at anything but our heads for revenge. That was two years ago an’ I’m still afraid to peek my head out of this cell when the sun is a-shining out there. Either that witch-woman will send some of her hell minions to get me, or the other one, the one I was supposed to kill, will recognize me and do me in himself.” To amplify the piteousness of his tale, Cecco took the dagger and aimed it at his heart.
The light glinting off the raised hilt of the dagger where four rubies had been gaudily set caught Bianca’s eye and illumined her mind. “Santa Graziella’s tongue,” she gasped, “what a fool I have been!” The jeweled dagger was the key to the entire mystery of Isabella’s death. She wasted several minutes berating herself in the name of various saints for not thinking of it sooner, then reminded herself that the oversight was excusable since the jeweled dagger had not been mentioned during her trial and she had been convinced of Ian’s guilt. Even so, she was less than pleased with her powers of reason because it suddenly seemed so clear. Whoever had made use of the jeweled dagger to frame Ian had been on good enough terms with her brother to trust Giovanni to procure the ugly item for him. While Giovanni was undoubtedly acquainted with all the men she had invited to Tullia’s, there was one man whose name stood out prominently. This particular man was not just a close friend of her brother’s, but indeed closer than a friend, for he was his cousin. And hers.
Bianca’s mind was racing. Not only did Cecco’s story confirm Ian’s, but she now felt confident that Ian had not been involved in the plot to frame her. She saw that he had not betrayed her, and had, in fact, been betrayed himself. There could
be only one woman, Mora, with the kind of resources and determination that Cecco had described. Even if Ian did still love Mora, surely the dwarf’s tale would show him the error of his ways, for there was no doubt that she was Cecco’s witch.
It took the full force of her reason to cool the emotions that reignited in Bianca’s heart and to dampen the flames of passion that began to blaze anew. Even if Ian had not framed her, her reason reminded her, he had refused to believe in her innocence. He had persisted stubbornly, like a mule or some even less dignified and cleanly creature of nature, to believe that she was guilty. What clearer proof could she ask for that he felt nothing for her, and never would.
An image of Ian rushed into her mind, and she had to choke back a sob. Even sporting mule’s ears, he was her ideal of male beauty, her ideal man. Or might have been, her reason corrected, if only he could have loved her back. For a moment, her emotions conquered her intellect, and her heart raced with the thought that her innocence proven, there would be nothing to stop their marriage. Except, her reason put in, her good sense.
To live with him, knowing that he did not love her, would be worse than not to live with him at all. She loved him too much, she admitted to herself, to condemn him to a life with a woman he could not feel for. At first it would probably be fine, but as the years went by, she knew he would come to resent and finally to despise her. Although it was going to be hard, it would be better to let him marry a woman he could love than force him to carry out a betrothal that would only make him hate her later. The thought of Ian’s despising her made her shudder and firmed her resolve.
She would not see him, would make no call on his affections, expect nothing of him. She would disappear from Venice and free him from their betrothal, letting him live the life he wanted to lead, with the companion of his choosing. But she had to be sure he knew of her innocence. She could not bear the thought that he would go through his life thinking that she had betrayed him and lied to him. She knew what it had done to her to harbor those emotions in her breast for even a short time, and she was determined to spare him that. She would not be another Mora.
There was no time to lose, she saw with alarm. The water was rising faster, seeping up through the floors with unstoppable energy. She had to get out of there and convey a message to Ian, to make him know about her and about Mora.…
Bianca spoke quickly, a plan taking shape in her mind. “If I promise to have you absolved of this crime and to restore you to your, ah, illustrious profession,” she addressed the dwarf, “will you help me?”
“After all I said, you still offering me them women’s promises?” Cecco made a face.
Damn Mora and her poison, Bianca thought to herself, struggling to stay calm. “You must believe me. I am telling the truth. I know the man you were supposed to kill, and I know the woman who gave you the commission. The man, Ian Foscari, is tall, handsome, with light hair and blue eyes. The woman,” Bianca stopped and shuddered, whether from relief or jealousy or the cold water now creeping up to her midsection was unclear, “is dark and very very beautiful. Her name is Morgana da Gigio.”
Cecco eyed her. “What if it is? What does that matter to me?”
“I can help you. I can intercede on your behalf. If Ian Foscari hears this tale, in the right way, he will praise you not attack you, I promise you that. And I can tell you just how to present it to him for the best effect.”
Cecco grunted incredulously. “I try to kill him and knock him in the head with this here dagger and you say he’s a-going to thank me? You’re one of the strange ones, aren’t you? No thanks. I seen how that man fights and I want no part of putting myself in his way.”
Bianca pushed her concerns to a corner of her mind and summoned all of her powers of reason to her aid. “Surely, it must be distasteful to a man of your abilities and tastes to be stuck down here all the time? And if you didn’t mind it before, what are you going to do now when the entire room is filled with water and all your possessions are ruined. Certainly you won’t be able to come back here for weeks, maybe even months. Where will you go? What will you do?”
She paused to let her words sink into Cecco’s mind, like the water that had been inexorably seeping into her gown. For several moments the two of them, the drenched dwarf and the bedraggled Bianca, stared at each other, their eyes locked in a battle of wills. Finally Cecco spoke.
“I bet you can’t even swim, can you?” When Bianca did not contradict him, Cecco shook his head. “I ain’t risking my life again for a lady, especially one as can’t even swim. No thank you. Promises. Bah.”
“You won’t take me with you? You won’t help me escape?” Bianca could no longer keep the desperation out of her voice.
“An’ how can I, even if I was liable to—which I ain’t, make no mistake—how can I if you don’t got the good sense to know how to swim. Plus you’re too big. Them sewers can’t barely hold me.”
“You swim out through the sewers? Couldn’t you just lead me to them and then go on your own? Couldn’t you just point me in the right direction?”
Cecco made a new face. “That would be plenty joyful, to come back here in a few weeks an’ find your corpse a-stinking up my front door.”
“Please, please, you must help me. I must get out of here. I am not a murderess. I don’t want to die.”
“Why didn’t you tell that to the judges when you had the chance?” Cecco’s tone softened a bit, as he pulled himself to the edge of the divan. “Look, mistress, I believe you ain’t a murderess, you ain’t got the stuff for it, but I still can’t take you with me. Maybe, if you’ll put in a good word for me with that Foscari devil, maybe I’ll carry a message to your friends.”
As he spoke he rose to the edge of the platform on which the divan was perched and made preparations for his departure. Bianca saw that this was her last chance, indeed her only chance. She could and would try to follow him, but the goddess of fortune seemed predisposed against her. At least she could see that Ian knew the truth about what had happened in Sicily and the truth about her innocence. It could be her gift to him, she thought dramatically, still harboring a secret hope to inspire some strong emotion in his breast. Even more secretly she imagined an emotion strong enough to compel him to rescue her from prison. She would have plenty of hours for these idiotic fantasies, she told herself, while she was waiting to drown. The time called for action, for the sooner that Cecco left and she followed him, the better her chances of survival.
With a deep sigh, she realized she had no choice but to place her fate in the hands of the recalcitrant dwarf. It was probably for the best that she be left there to drown, she assured herself, because otherwise she would not be strong enough to keep from seeing Ian. “I would be most grateful if you would go to Palazzo Foscari,” she instructed the waiting Cecco, “and tell Ian Foscari everything you have told me. Tell him how we met and that I sent you. Then tell him I am innocent, that Angelo, my cousin, is the murderer I was seeking.” She paused, considering the impropriety of her next words and deciding that since she would soon be dead, it did not matter much anyway. “And tell him that I love him.”
Cecco grimaced. “I should have known a woman would go aputting them womanly sentiments in it. I’ll say what I say, an’ then we’ll see how good them promises of yours are.” With that, he leapt into the water and swam over to the far corner of his cell, dived down, and disappeared.
“Signore! Signore Cecco!” Bianca called, slipping from her stool into the water which now came just below her breasts, and moving toward the spot where she had last seen his head. She moved her feet and hands over the walls and floor around her but felt nothing. He had disappeared completely, leaving her alone with the eerie sound of water seeping ever faster through the cracks in the prison walls.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The young man watched with a hint of arousal as the woman extended her arm across h
is lap to reach for another sugared grape. Seeing that he was growing bored with the interminable wait, she took no pains to conceal the milky breast that slipped out of the low-cut bodice on her deep burgundy gown. Instead, she pulled herself up next to her companion and ran the grape over her exposed nipple, covering it in sugar. Her hand behind his head, she pushed his mouth over the enticing sweet, moaning gently as he sucked the sugar off.
“That is only the beginning of the reward for your fine work, angelo mio,” she said huskily when their eyes met again. “You shall have everything you have ever wanted.”
“Right now, all I want is to feel your hands caressing my cock.” The young man spoke insistently, newly confident.
She rolled her head back and laughed, a slow, deep ripple that made the veins on her creamy throat tremble deliciously, then turned the half smile on him. “I see we are already learning to command. But that—”
There was a knock at the door, and two men dressed in her brother’s colors entered the room, interrupting her. The woman immediately recognized them as her brother’s personal guards, Jenö and Roric, gifts from the pope himself. They were a pair of fair giants, with the light golden hair and piercing blue eyes of people from the northern countries. They were so tall that they had to bend their heads to avoid hitting them on the lintel, and their broad shoulders barely cleared the doorway. In answer to the woman’s gesture, they approached the couple on the divan, each making a deep bow.