Extract - Chapter 17

The eyes of the Borgia flickered over his dinner guests. His gaze rested on me where I stood beside the Maestro’s chair.

‘Do we need this boy here?’

‘He will fetch my sketches and plans should you require them, my lord,' said the Maestro. 'Matteo knows where everything is kept.’

The dinner began.

I reached out and lifted my master's wine cup. Before I handed it to him I drank from it.

The Maestro's eyes opened in surprise. ‘You insult our host,’ he said in a low voice.

We both looked to the top of the table. The Borgia had turned his head to listen to his dining companion. She was the wife of the lieutenant who had arrived that morning and quite beautiful. She smiled at him coquettishly. He laughed.

His guests relaxed.

I did not.

Cesare Borgia ate heartily, but drank little. Frequently he glanced around the table. He had the countenance of a man who has just entered a brothel.

Dessert was announced with a trumpet fanfare. Cherries soaked in liqueur flavoured with cocoa, a delicacy brought from the New World. It struck me then that as few people would have tasted this plant it was the perfect opportunity to conceal poison.

I bent and wiped the Maestro’s spoon with the napkin. I whispered,

‘Do not eat this dish.’

‘Tush! Matteo.’

This plate was to be served to every individual separately yet at once. Led by a single drummer a great procession of servants filed into the great hall. They each carried a single plate, and they positioned themselves, one behind each chair, in preparation of placing a dish before each guest.

Across the table from the Maestro sat the lieutenant. This man had displeased Cesare Borgia, and I remembered how, earlier in the afternoon, Cesare Borgia made much show to welcome him. Embracing the lieutenant in the courtyard as he arrived at the head of his column of soldiers.

But now the Lieutenant's men were barracked some distance from this castle. And their commander sat alone at the table of the Borgia.

My eyes met those of the servant who now stood behind his chair. The breath in my chest thickened so that I could not breathe. This was no servant. It was Michelotto, personal henchman of Cesare Borgia.

The Borgia stood up and made a signal. Opposite me, like all the other servants, over each diner’s head, with both hands, the Borgia henchman placed the dish down on the table. The servants kept their hands on either side of the plate, and waited.

The guests at table made appropriate noises of delight at the unusual dish. Some of the ladies applauded. The Lieutenant's wife scooped up a cherry and popped it into her mouth.

'Delicious!' She exclaimed. She tilted her head provocatively at Cesare Borgia. 'You must try one.'

He smiled at her but did not make any motion to eat. It was obvious that I was not the only one to have doubts about the strange dish for although some people lifted their spoons, many hesitated.

As if he had not noticed any awkwardness Cesare Borgia sat down then, picked up his own spoon and dipped it in the dessert. He put a mouthful to his lips. But it was not until he had eaten that the rest of the company followed suit.

The Lieutenant took his spoon in his hand.

The Borgia nodded and waved to his servants in a gesture of dismissal. Everyone’s attention was on the table in front of them. Everyone except me.

On the opposite side of the table I saw the Borgia executioner smile. He raised his hands to withdraw. Between his fingers, in the candlelight, gleamed the wire of a garrotte.

 

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