“It’s exactly because I’m leaving—I am concerned for the Ospedale’s welfare in my absence.”
“Why would you be more worried about the Ospedale’s welfare in your absence than when you are still here? I fail to see how your imminent departure might engender such concern.”
I cast about for an answer. When you have to lie, use the available facts. “I learned of the diseases rats can spread from . . . a text I came across when I was preparing the Dante. Can the Ospedale hire a rat catcher?”
“The kitchen staff already puts out traps.”
“That’s not enough.”
“Beatrice, I am quite baffled by your preoccupation with Ospedale vermin. It is a business you know nothing about, and an expensive one at that.”
“I’ll give you everything I’ve saved if you’ll pay someone to kill rats until I get back,” I said. Umiltà looked at me for a long time, as if she were trying to read my soul.
“As ill-founded as your suggestion may be, I can see that it springs from a heart bent toward charity, and charity bestows a smile on God’s countenance. But you must leave yourself something for the voyage. Charity paired with stupidity is a doomed marriage.” I nodded. She was right, of course, about both the specific and the general point. “Very well, Beatrice. Have we settled the matter?” Barely, I thought, but maybe it would make some tiny, marginal difference. Umiltà prompted me again. “Is there anything else? I must return to the Biccherna’s records.”
“There is one other thing. Do you remember that man with the terrible rash, the one we saw that first day you brought me into the pellegrinaio? Whatever happened to him?” Umiltà’s face clouded.
“He died,” she said. “The night you saw him, in a rictus of fever.”
“You knew he was contagious, didn’t you?”
“Indeed, and I told you as much, as I separated him from his fellow pilgrims.”
“But you took care of him anyway.”
“Of course. It is my mission to tend the bodies and souls of those poor lost travelers who have no other recourse, and offer them solace and healing.”
I thought of what she’d done for me. “Didn’t you worry that you might get sick too, being near him all that time?”
“I have lived long, Beatrice, and if I should meet my end in such service, I would count myself among the fortunate.” She meant it too; I could see the radiance of her purpose illuminate her features. I had been thinking of warning her—giving her information that might make her turn from her work, in order to save herself. Clearly, though, there was no point trying to convince Umiltà to leave any patient, current or future, and knowing that brought a strange relief with it.
* * *
Next, I met Lugani’s chief accountant. His brown hair was speckled with gray, and deep lines furrowed his brow. He had most of his teeth, which was unusual in the fourteenth century, and dressed neatly in a dark green tunic belted over a white linen shirt. He leaned close to me as he spoke, closer than I liked. “Monna Trovato, is it not? May God be with you on our upcoming journey, and with us all.”
I signaled my agreement with a nod. “Yes, I am Beatrice Trovato.” I waited for him to introduce himself.
“Ser Orazio Cane.” He bowed his head, but not deferentially. “I hear you will be joining us on the voyage to Messina, and that you were most recently engaged here at the Ospedale Santa Maria della Scala as a scribe. Have you always resided in Siena? The inflection of your speech sounds unfamiliar.” Cane smiled thinly, and I wondered whether my answers would be tested against some template for accuracy. I had an image of him as a bloodhound. His last name, Latin for dog, suited him.
I stuck to my old story, in case he’d already heard it. “I began my travel from Lucca early this summer, in a pilgrimage I took up after my husband’s death.”
“You did not continue on to Roma, then. Was that your goal?”
“Siena’s Ospedale offered me a haven from suffering.” I was about to leave that haven, against my will.
Cane nodded briefly. “And a source of income; no small matter for a young widow such as yourself, and alone too.”
“It seems everyone knows my business.”
“Ser Lugani keeps me in his closest confidence.”
“You must be highly respected, to be held in such regard by a man of his stature.” I gave Cane my most genuine smile, but I had the feeling he wasn’t easy to mollify with compliments.
* * *
My opportunity to meet Ser Signoretti in person came from an unexpected direction. In the last few days before my scheduled departure with Lugani’s party, Cane came to the scriptorium to announce that my duties would begin immediately. It turned out that Signoretti had international as well as local interest in art, and wished to contract with Lugani to ship panel paintings to a buyer in Sicily. Lugani and Signoretti were apparently longtime business partners, and Lugani didn’t need to come along to the meeting. So when I went, armed with a sheaf of parchment and a case of pens and ink, I was accompanied only by the officious Cane.
The Signoretti palazzo was an imposing building with high leaded glass windows and a massive wood front door at the top of a wide flight of steps. A guard stood outside, armed with a short but serious-looking sword. After Cane’s introduction, we were quickly granted entry.
Inside the palazzo large tapestries lined the walls, depicting elegantly dressed men and women enjoying themselves in a lush garden against a millefiore background. A manservant led us through the hall to Signoretti’s studium.
Close up, Signoretti looked less like his modern counterpart than he had at the festival of the Assumption. Ben’s scholarly competition was slim and self-aggrandizing, someone who needed to act more important than he actually was. The medieval Signoretti was heavy and sleek with power, an established nobleman with no need to prove anything. His voice was low and certain of its effect.
“Ah, Ser Cane, you look well, as usual. Your employment with Ser Lugani appears to suit you.”
Cane bowed. “Indeed it does. He is an excellent employer, and one whose contacts always benefit from the exchange.” That sounded to me like a biased assessment, but in this setting I supposed it was appropriate. Signoretti seemed to think so too, as he nodded his heavy head in tacit agreement. He wore a complicated red velvet cap decorated with gold brocade that would have weighed me down, but on him it looked dainty.
When Signoretti’s deep-set eyes focused on my face I felt like a specimen ready for dissection. “I presume this lady who joins us today is also in Messer Lugani’s beneficial realm?”