The Marlowe Conspiracy (57 page)

CURE: Calabar Bean

With shaking hands, I scrutinized the manuscripts at the desk. Two were Greek texts:
‘Theriaca’
by Nicander of Colophon; and
‘Materia Medica’
by Dioscorides. The third was a more recent work in Latin:
‘The Book of Venoms’
by Magister Santes de Ardoynis. They were all guides to the classification, properties, and treatments of poisons.

Inside one of the volumes, I spied a handwritten note on the front leaf. The title read
‘Cantarella: A Preparation’
and below it was written the detailed method for combining all the poisons into the recipe for one brilliant white, sweet-tasting powder. The recipe claimed this new compound would have no existing antidote. Regretfully, I knew the handwriting. The smudges and flaws of the style were unmistakable. It was the hand of Cesare.

Although nothing here yet incriminated Cesare in Juan’s slaying, I had stumbled onto something equally horrific. Obviously, this corner of the cellar was the secret base for my family’s newest and darkest operation. The House of Borgia intended to strike back against its enemies by stooping to the use of poisons.

Now I understood why I’d seen Cesare creeping out from the cellar. He had possessed enough foresight to start preparations on the very night of Juan’s disappearance. He knew that the Orsini guard’s death would provoke a revenge attack, and he’d already begun preparing the means to respond to it. The rumors would soon be true: if my family hadn’t already murdered people in the past, they would do so in the near future.

I wanted to tell someone immediately and prevent any more deaths, yet I knew there was no one I could ask for help. There was no authority in the world, neither spiritual nor legal, higher than my father. If Cesare had somehow convinced him to start on the path of murder, who could stop either of them from following this course? I also couldn’t tell anyone about the poisons I’d seen tonight – not one cardinal, not one constable, not one citizen of Rome could know about this or their life might be jeopardized. Everyone I knew was either loyal to my family or within easy reach of being destroyed by it.

The more I deliberated, the more I doubted that I could ever reveal my family’s secrets. They were plotting something diabolical, but it was no worse than the tactics used by many rulers of the Italian states. Indeed, poison was a very common weapon to dispatch one’s foes without raising suspicion. It was clean, efficient, hard to trace, and the symptoms were easily confused with natural diseases. You could smile with your victim as he sips from a poisoned cup, wish him well as he departs for home, and even comfort his relatives as they mourn at his funeral. No one could tie you to the death. No one would take vengeance on you in response.

Never had I been so ashamed in all my life, not only of Cesare and Alexander, but also of myself. No matter how my brother and father acted, they were my kin, and I couldn’t betray them. I wouldn’t betray them. They were all I had in the world. If there was poison in the House of Borgia, in my own bloodline, I had to accept that it was also part of myself from now onwards. For better or worse, there was poison in my blood.

“I’ll leave this place…” I said into the darkness. “I’ll leave it and never come back…”

Before I rushed away, I glanced again at the scroll and unrolled it fully. While the parchment was blank, I wafted it closer and sniffed at the faint fumes of citrus. The discovery was certainly curious, but it offered no further revelations, and I placed it back on the desk.

With nimble feet, I scaled the stairs to the courtyard, locked the door, and scurried off to Cesare’s bedchamber to return the key. Inside his room, it was as quiet and stifling as before. I replaced the key-ring on his bedside table and prepared to leave. As a precaution, I peered over to the bed and checked that he was asleep. He still lay motionless and soundless, hidden under the quilt. I frowned at his lumpy shape. He was a little too motionless and soundless…

I approached his bed and listened: no sound of breathing and no movement of sheets. Fearing he was dead, I decided to risk the danger of waking him up. I reached out and poked his shoulder, but my finger felt no resistance.

I tore back the quilt. Nothing lay in the bed except a bundle of sheets and clothes arranged into the shape of a body.

A trick!

He must have heard me when I’d entered the antechamber, and reacted instantly before I reached his bedroom. He’d been hiding in the shadows while I stole his keys! I backed away from the bed, panic-stricken. If Cesare wasn’t in his room now, then where on earth was he?

I shot out of the bedchamber, banging the doors behind me as I fled. Suddenly, I had a very good idea of his location. On arriving outside my own room, candlelight glowed under the doorframe and confirmed my suspicions. By creeping about tonight, I had given Cesare the chance to sneak into my very own bedchamber.

I took a draught of air to calm myself, then shuffled inside. Before me, Cesare reclined on my bed, reading through a bundle of letters beside him. I looked at him warily.

“Good evening, sister,” he said, peeking over the top of a letter. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. Something disturbed me tonight, that’s all. I couldn’t sleep. I came to speak with you, but you weren’t here, so I waited.”

I snatched the bundle of letters from the bed. “And while you waited, you thought it’d be nice to go through all my private correspondence? These letters are from my mother. I didn’t want anyone else to look at them.”

“I found them by accident.” He stood up and gave me the letter in his hand. “I didn’t think it was wrong to lie here and read them.”

“The problem with you, Cesare, is you think that you can lie wherever you want!”

And he was lying. The only way he could have accidentally found my letters in their hiding place, was if he’d tripped, fallen under the bed, and stuck his hand beneath the mattress.

“You look cold.” He pointed to my blotchy arm. “Did you go out somewhere?”

“What did you want to speak to me about? That’s why you’re here, remember.”

“Yes, I just wanted you to know that many things will change soon. Our world inside the palazzo will change. The world outside will change, too. But whatever occurs, you’ll always be safe. I’ll never let you come to any harm. Do you believe that?”

I nodded, slightly afraid of him.

“Say it, Lucrezia,” he said sincerely.

“Yes,” I replied. “You have the face of Jesus – how could I not believe you?”

He watched me closely, unsure what to think. Finally, he said goodnight. Of course, he knew exactly where I’d been this evening and what I’d discovered. He’d only visited to learn my reaction. He wanted to know how I would judge him.

After he’d left my room, I counted all my letters to make sure none were missing. Satisfied, I searched about my bedchamber and found a new hiding place. As I tucked them away behind the panel of one of my clothing chests, I made a silent and solemn promise with myself. I resolved to forget everything I’d seen in the cellar. Cesare was right, there were things about my family that I hadn’t known, and that I didn’t want to know.

During the rest of the night, I lay under the canopy of my bed, eyes open, my mind agitated with a variety of thoughts. I remembered my father’s dramatic revelation earlier in the day: my impending marriage to Alfonso of Aragon, Duke of Bisceglie.

To my surprise, I no longer regarded the match so unfavorably. For the House of Borgia, this union was simply a political alliance that would establish strong ties with the House of Aragon. It would also bestow me with a title, the Duchess of Bisceglie. For me, however, the marriage could be so much more. Alfonso was someone different, someone fresh who could rejuvenate my life. It didn’t hurt matters that he was also young and very handsome. Even so, when we finally met each other, I knew that I might find him boring, indifferent, or loathsome.

But what about the alternative? What if I felt some small tenderness toward him from the start? What if my affection slowly grew into something more profound? What if we found love upon a single glance?

What if…

P
OISON IN THE
B
LOOD

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Also by M. G. Scarsbrook

THE LIFE & COMPLETE WORKS OF CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Described by Tennyson as the 'Morning Star' of Elizabethan drama, Christopher Marlowe is considered one of the greatest playwrights in the English language. This book gathers together all the crucial information needed for a study into the life of Marlowe, including a detailed timeline, a biographical profile, an extensive list of all Marlowe's personal associates, and a collection of all the key primary documents relating to Marlowe's dramatic life and death (e.g., The Privy Council Note To Cambridge Authorities, The Dutch Church Libel, The Baines Note, & much more).

Optimized for navigation as an eBook, with a table of contents linked to every section, this book also features a complete collection of Marlowe's plays and poetry.

PLAYS INCLUDED:

- Dido, Queen of Carthage

- Tamburlaine The Great, Part One

- Tamburlaine The Great, Part Two

- The Jew Of Malta

- Doctor Faustus (from the Quarto of 1604, and from the Quarto of 1616)

- Edward the Second

- The Massacre at Paris

POETRY INCLUDED:

- Hero and Leander

- Ovid's Elegies (translation)

- Lucan's Pharsalia (translation)

- The Passionate Shepherd To His Love

- Fragment

- Dialogue In Verse

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About The Book

1593, Elizabethan England: In a turbulent time of wars, famine, and religious persecution, Christopher Marlowe struggles to balance his life as England's most popular playwright with his duties as a government spy.

Suddenly, when he falls under suspicion of atheism, a capital crime, Marlowe fears his many powerful enemies have launched a conspiracy to have him executed.

With only a few days to clear his name, he quickly enlists the aid of a young William Shakespeare - one of the few friends he can still trust. Together, they race through Marlowe's tangled life of crime, espionage, and noble connections to expose the conspiracy and save him from the hangman's noose.

But will anything save a man as troubled as Marlowe?

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