‘Oh, my own love, how shall we manage?’ asked Lorenzo as he came inside. ‘I can’t go out, I can’t, I’m so sorry but...’
Gio gathered him close in a comforting hug which stilled his trembling.
‘We’ll think of something. We also have to make sure that no one comes searching for you. I have just the notion. Do you have a really strong sleeping drug? One that might mimic death to a careless observer? And some paint. Quickly!’ said Giovanni. ‘Or they will be taking two of us to the stake.’
‘Oh, no,’ Lorenzo’s eyes widened. ‘No, you had nothing to do with the studies they are calling black magic.’
‘You think I’d live without you?’ demanded Giovanni. ‘You think I’d let you burn alone? Quick, sleeping draught, paint. Oh, tesoro mio, we will live through this. I promise. ‘
Lorenzo rummmaged and produced a phial of green liquid and a box of paints. Giovanni bade him loosen his doublet and lie down on his bed cover. He called the valet inside.
‘Cosimo, come in and pack up all the books, his clothes, all that stuff, when we are gone. Weep convincingly - Luisa will give you a cut onion - and bring them to my uncle’s house, here is the address, as soon as you can. Here is money. It is all yours. Why is Il Signore allowing this to happen?’ he asked, swiftly painting his lover’s face like a carnival mask of il peste, the plague, with green underpaint and horrible bursts of scarlet and yellow.
‘That looks really dreadful,’ commented Cosimo. ‘The elder son is the favoured one. Il Signore thinks he can sacrifice one to Savanarola and preserve the other. It will probably work,’ he added.
‘Do you trust me?’ asked Giovanni of his lover, now a figure of horror and nightmare.
‘I trust you,’ said Lorenzo. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too. Take the potion. I’ll see you soon.’
Lorenzo took the potion.
Great weeping and lamentation echoed down the canale grande as the di Bianchi family learned that their strange, unloved second son had expired of the plague, thus meaning that they would all be shut in for a month, avoiding any more interaction with Savanarola. Il Signore, handkerchief over nose and mouth, had farewelled his dead child, lying ghastly and unsightly on the floor, from a safe distance and bade them take the corpse away. Cosimo and Luisa’s son carried the body, wrapped in its bed cover, down the stairs and out into the capacious seating of one of the few gondola now operating in Venice. Giovanni caught a very speaking look from Luisa as they laid the body down gently.
She gave him a covered basket such as are used for journeys and kissed him like a mother.
Then he was rowing down the Grand Canal as always, towards the lido and a boat which was waiting to carry them both to Uncle Teodoro in Napoli. He was flying the black flag which meant plague, and no one interfered with his progress. He reached the lido, gave his gondola to his cousin, and carried Lorenzo into the hold of the boat, which set sail swiftly.
Unwrapped, Lorenzo was deeply asleep and did not react as Gio cleaned the paint from his face. He did not stir until they were rocking at anchor off the Amalfi coast waiting for dawn. Giovanni was very worried about whether his lover would wake at all, and about if he did, how he would feel, now being away from his precious house and his books and his safety. A safety which would have seen him sacrificed to family ambitions, but safety of a sort.
So it was a great relief when Lorenzo opened his eyes and said, ‘It worked,’ and began to cry.
Gio lay down next to him until sobs passed into sniffles.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Lorenzo, wiping his face on his shirt sleeve.
‘Naples, to my uncle Teodoro. He’s a shipwright. I’m a gondola builder. We will be comfortable there. My father has lent us a house. Are you hungry? Luisa sent a basket.’
‘Very hungry,’ agreed Lorenzo. Gio opened the basket. It contained pannacotta alla rosamela, cannoli and fritella with vanilla and apples.
‘She was always a clever woman, that Luisa,’ mused Lorenzo, biting into an apple fritter and closing his eyes in ecstasy. ‘I shall have to work hard, if I am to buy new books,’ he said sadly.
‘No need,’ Gio swallowed his cannoli. ‘Cosimo will come with the books and all your other goods. I gave him the money to travel to Naples in style.’
‘How much money?’ asked Lorenzo.
‘Fifty escudos.’
‘That’s a lot of money,’ observed Lorenzo.
‘Yes,’ said Giovanni ‘baci baci’ Di Ca’ Nuova. ‘Didn’t I tell you? I won a bet.’
ESCAPE FROM HERCULANEUM.
‘All right, tell me another one,’ urged Crassus, nailing down the crate and reaching for another bundle of scrolls. The air was smoky and harsh. He coughed as he spoke.
‘Blessed are the meek,’ said Piso, emptying another shelf of scrolls into his arms.
‘That’s just silly,’ commented Crassus.
‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven,’ recited Piso. ‘Not much more, the library’s nearly packed up.’
‘What does poor in spirit mean?’ asked Crassus.
‘I don’t know,’ confessed Piso.
‘Look. Pisculus, this is nonsense, admit it!’
‘Oh, and I suppose your Master Epicurus’ sayings are divinely inspired? And don’t call me that!’ yelled Piso.
‘You’re a fish, a fish, all Christians are little fish,’ taunted his fellow librarian. ‘Just like the little minnows of Tiberius! Too meek to fight back!’
‘I’ll show you meek, Infidelis!’ Piso’s hazel eyes flashed.
‘Swimming around in the Blue Grotto and sucking the Emperor’s...’
He recoiled from a smart slap. He licked uneasily at a split lip. He hadn’t known that Piso could hit like that. Or that hard. His fellow librarian was almost panting with fury.
‘No time to show you proper respect for my lord Jesus Christ. The smoke’s getting worse.’
‘Yes, and we’re leaving,’ said Crassus, realising something. ‘Now.’
‘Why? We can put these on the cart, Pietas the donkey’s outside...’
‘Listen, you Christian dolt!’ demanded Crassus. He grabbed Piso’s curly hair and shook his head from side to side. Piso did not fight off the touch.
‘I can’t hear anything,’ he admitted.
‘The mountain’s been grumbling and belching and shaking the earth for at least a week, right?’ demanded Crassus.
‘Yes, of course,’ replied Piso.
‘And now it’s stopped. Which means that the mountain is going to erupt, come on,’ urged Crassus. Piso did not move. ‘Well, I’m leaving. Come with me. Oh, of course, you don’t mind dying, you’re going to heaven, aren’t you, my not-so-meek Pisculus?’
‘And you as well, if you believe,’ said Piso calmly, placing his last armload of scrolls in the crate and fastening the lid. ‘God will protect me.’
‘Is your God willing to prevent this evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent,’ said Crassus, dragging at Piso’s arm. ‘Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Come on, Piso!’
‘Blessed are the pure in heart,