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Absorbed in these reflections, I chose a little picture of the Madonna of Sorrows which was hanging there and returned to the apartment, where Cristofano was busying himself around my poor master.

After arranging the picture and the holy water near the sickbed, I felt my strength abandon me and, collapsing in a corner, I burst into tears.

"Courage, my boy, courage."

I found again in the physician's tone of voice that paternal, jovial Cristofano who had in the past few days so raised my mood. Like a father, he took my head in his hands and I could at last unburden my­self. I explained to him that the man who had taken me in, thus saving me from extreme misery, was dying. Signor Pellegrino was a good man, albeit of bilious humour, and although I had been but six months in his service, it seemed to me that I had always been with him. What would become of me now? Once the quarantine was over, even if I were to survive, I would be left without any means of support and I did not even know the new parish priest of Santa Maria in Posterula.

"Now everyone will need you," said he, raising my dead weight from the ground. "I myself was coming to look for you, as we have to calculate our resources. The subsidy which we shall receive from the Congregation for Public Health will be very small indeed, and we shall have to ration our provisions carefully."

Still sniffling, I reassured him that the pantry was far from empty, but he wished nonetheless to be taken there. The pantry was in the cellars and only I and Pellegrino possessed a key to it. From now on, said Cristofano, I was to keep both copies in a place known only to myself and him, so that no one could help themselves to the provi­sions. By the faint light that filtered in through the grates, we en­tered the pantry, which was on two levels.

Fortunately, my master, being a great steward and cook, had never failed to see to it that we were furnished with all manner of odoriferous cheeses, salt meats and smoked fish, dried vegetables and tomatoes, as well as rows of wine and oil jars which, for an instant, delighted the eye of the physician and caused his features to soften. He comment­ed only with a half-smile, and continued: "If there are any problems, you will advise me, and you will also tell me if anyone seems to be in ill health. Is that clear?"

"But will what has befallen Signor Pellegrino also happen to oth­ers?" I asked with tears again filling my eyes.

"Let us hope not. But we shall have to do everything possible to ensure that it does not happen," said he, without looking me in the eyes. "You, meanwhile, may continue to sleep in the chamber with him, as you already did last night despite my orders: it is good that your master should have someone to watch over him at night."

1 marvelled greatly that the physician did not consider the pos­sibility of my becoming infected, but dared not ask questions.

I accompanied him back to his apartment on the first floor. Hardly had we turned right, towards Cristofano's chamber, than we both gave a start: there we found Atto leaning against the door.

"What are you doing here? I thought that I had given everyone clear instructions," protested the doctor.

"I am perfectly aware of what you said. But if anyone has nothing to lose from keeping company with one another, it is we three. Did we or did we not carry poor Pellegrino? The boy here has lived shoul­der to shoulder with his master until this morning. If we were to be infected, we are already."

A fine veil of perspiration covered Abbot Melani's broad, wrinkled forehead as he spoke, and his voice, despite the sarcasm of his tone, betrayed a certain dryness in the throat.

"That is no good reason for being imprudent," retorted Cristo­fano, stiffening.

"I admit that," said Melani. "But before we enter this claustration, I should like to know what our chances are of leaving here alive. And I wager..."

"I care not what you wager. The others are already in their apart­ments."

"... I wager that no one knows exactly how we are to organise the days to come. What will happen if the dead should begin to pile up? Shall we get rid of them? But how, then, if only the weakest should survive? Are we certain that provisions will be supplied? And what is happening outside these walls? Has the infection spread or not?"

"That is not..."

"All of this
is
important, Cristofano. No one can go on alone, as you thought to do. We must speak of these things, if only to lighten the burden of our sad predicament."

From the physician's weak response, I understood that Atto's argu­ments were breaching his defences. To complete the abbot's work, at that moment we were joined by Stilone Priaso and Devize who seemed also to have many anxious questions to put to the physician.

"Very well," said Cristofano, yielding with a sigh before the two could even open their mouths. "What do you want to know?"

"Nothing whatever," replied Atto superciliously. "We need first of all to reason together: when shall we fall ill?"

"Well, if and when the infection comes," replied the physician.

"Oh, come, come!" retorted Stilone. "In the worst case, suppos­ing that this is indeed the pestilence, when will that happen? Are you or are you not the physician?"

"Yes, indeed, when?" I echoed, almost as though to give myself strength.

Cristofano was touched to the quick. He opened wide his round black, barn-owl eyes and, arching an eyebrow in an unmistakeable sign that he was disposed to talk with us, he gravely raised two fin­gers to the pointed beard on his chin.

Then, however, he thought better of it and put off his explana­tions until evening, it being his intention, he said, to call us together after supper, on which occasion he would furnish us with whatever elucidations we might desire.

Thereupon, Abbot Melani returned to his apartment. Cristofano, however, retained Stilone Priaso and Devize.

"It seems I heard, when I was speaking to you a moment ago, that you are suffering from a certain intestinal flatulence. If you wish, I have with me a good remedy to rid you of that nuisance."

The two consented, not without some embarrassment. All four of us then resolved to descend to the ground floor, where Cristofano ordered me to prepare a small portion of good broth with which to administer the four grains per head of Oil of Sulphur. The physician would, in the meanwhile, anoint the back and loins of Stilone Priaso and Devize with his special balsam.

While Cristofano went to collect the necessary, which he had left in his chamber, the Frenchman went into a corner at the far end of the room to tune his guitar. I hoped that he would again play that intriguing piece which had so enchanted me in the morning, but, soon after, he rose and returned to the kitchen, where he stopped behind the table at which the Neapolitan poet was seated, and never again touched the instrument. Stilone Priaso had taken out a notebook and was scribbling something in it.

"Fear not, my boy. We shall not die of the pestilence," said he, turning to me as I busied myself in the kitchen.

"Perhaps, Sir, you foresee the future?" asked Devize ironically.

"Better than chirurgeons can!" joked Stilone Priaso.

"Your wit is inappropriate in this hostelry," warned the doctor, ar­riving with his sleeves rolled up and with the balsam in his hands.

The Neapolitan was the first to uncover his back, while Cristofano as usual listed the numerous virtues of his physick: "... and last but not least, 'tis also good for the penile caruncle. One needs but rub it vigorously into one's tail until it is absorbed, and relief is assured."

While I was busy with tidying and warming up the broth which I had been asked to prepare, I heard the trio communing ever more closely among themselves.

"... and yet I repeat, 'tis indeed he," I heard Devize whisper, his Gallic accent making his voice easy to recognise, above all when he pronounced words like "carriage", "war" or "correct" which made his elocution quite inimitable.

"There can be no doubt about it, no doubt," echoed Stilone Priaso's excited response.

"All three of us recognise him, and each in different ways," con­cluded Cristofano.

I stationed myself discreetly where I could overhear them, without crossing the threshold dividing the kitchen from the dining chamber. I soon understood that they were speaking of Abbot Melani, whose reputation was already known to all three.

"This much is certain: he is an extremely dangerous individual," affirmed Stilone Priaso peremptorily.

As always when he wished to imbue his words with authority, he focussed severely on an invisible point in front of him, while scratching the bridge of his nose with his little finger and nervously shaking his fingers as though to rid himself of who knows what fine powder.

"He must be kept under constant observation," he concluded.

The trio talked without paying any attention to me, as was, more­over, usual with almost all customers, to whom a serving boy was little more than a shadow. Thus it was that I learned a number of facts and circumstances which made me repent no little my having conferred for so long the night before with Abbot Melani and above all having promised him my services.

"Is he now in the pay of the King of France?" asked Stilone Priaso in a low voice.

"I maintain that he is. Even if no one can tell with certainty," replied Devize.

"Certain persons' preference is to side with all and with none," added Cristofano, continuing his massage and kneading Stilone Priaso's back even harder.

"He has served more princes than he himself can remember," hissed Stilone. "In Naples, I am sure that they would not even allow him to en­ter the city. More to the right, please," said he, turning to the physician.

Thus I learned, with unspeakable dismay, of the dark and turbu­lent past of Abbot Melani; a past of which he had not breathed a word to me the night before.

Since his earliest youth, Atto had been engaged by the Grand Duke of Tuscany as a castrato singer (and this, the abbot had indeed told me). But that was not the only task which Melani performed for his master; in reality, he served him as a spy and secret courier. Atto's singing was indeed admired and in demand in all the courts of Europe, which gave the castrato great credit among crowned heads, in addition to unusual freedom of movement.

"On the pretext of entertaining the sovereigns, he would intro­duce himself into the royal courts to spy, to stir and to corrupt," ex­plained Devize.

"And then repeat everything to his principals," echoed Stilone Priaso acidly.

In addition to the Medici, Cardinal Mazarin had soon used Atto's double services, thanks to the ancient relations of friendship between Florence and Paris. The Cardinal had, indeed, become his foremost protector, and took him with him even on the most delicate diplo­matic missions. Atto was regarded almost as one of the family. He had become the bosom friend of Mazarin's niece, for whom the King had so lost his head that he wished to marry her. And when, later, the girl was obliged to leave France, Atto remained her confidant.

"But then Mazarin died," resumed Devize, "and life became diffi­cult for Atto. His Majesty had just attained his majority and mistrusted all the Cardinal's proteges," explained Devize. "What is more, he was compromised in the scandal involving Fouquet, the Superintendent of Finances."

I gave a start. Was not Fouquet the name which the abbot had mentioned in passing the night before?

"That was a false move," continued the French musician, "for which the Most Christian King pardoned him only after the passing of much time."

"Only a false move, you call it? But were not he and that thief Fouquet friends?" objected Cristofano.

"No one has ever succeeded in clarifying how matters really stood.

When Fouquet was arrested, a note was found containing the order to lodge Atto secretly in his house. That note was shown to Fouquet's judges."

"And how did the Superintendent explain it?" asked Stilone Priaso.

"He said that, some time previously, Melani had requested a sure refuge. That meddler had made an enemy of the powerful Due de la Meilleraye, the heir to Mazarin's fortune. The Duke, who was a most irascible character, had succeeded in persuading the King to have Melani removed from Paris and had already hired ruffians to give him a beating. Some friends therefore recommended him to Fouquet: in his home, he would be safe, since the two were not known to fre­quent one another."

"But then Atto and Fouquet were not acquainted!" said Stilone Priaso.

"'Tis not that simple," warned Devize with a knowing smile. "Twenty years have passed since then and I was a child at the time. Later, however, I perused the records of Fouquet's trial which in those days were more widely read than the Bible. Well, to his judges, Fouquet said: 'There existed no known frequentation between Atto and myself.'"

"What a sly fox!" exclaimed Stilone. "A perfect answer: no one could witness to having ever seen the two together; which did not, however, mean that they may not have been secretly in contact... In my opinion, the two did know each other, and that right well. The note speaks for itself: Atto was one of Fouquet's private spies."

"That is possible," said Devize, nodding his head in agreement. "What is, however, certain is that Fouquet's ambiguous reply saved Melani from prison. He slept in Fouquet's house and immediately afterwards left for Rome, escaping the beating. In Rome, however, other bad news reached him: the arrest of Fouquet, the scandal, his good name besmirched, the King's fury..."